UC-NRLF 


155    5t.fi 


H.  SCOFIELD, 


THE 


LITERARY  REMAINS 


JOSEPH    APPLETON    BARRETT 


EMILY    MARIA    BARRETT. 


BOSTON    I 
M  UN  ROE      AND      FRANCIS. 

1837. 


US. 


752. 
PREFACE.  />.  JL 


THE  following  Literary  Remains  are  from  the  pens  of 
a  young  gentleman  and  lady,  endowed  with  singular 
talents,  modesty,  and  moral  worth.  An  early  death  has 
closed  the  door  forever  to  that  career  of  honor  and  of 
usefulness,  for  which,  by  reason  of  these  endowments, 
they  seem  to  have  been  destined.  These  compositions, 
over  which,  and  the  souls  whose  offspring  they  are,  the 
Fell  Destroyer  can  exert  no  power,  have  by  the  hand  of 
affection  been  gathered  into  the  present  volume.  Now 
that  their  bodies  have  vanished  from  among  us,  and  their 
spirits  returned  to  their  heavenly  homes  ;  now  that  their 
voices  no  longer  fall  upon  our  ears,  and  their  good  ex 
ample  shines  no  more  around  our  paths,  this  collection  of 
their  literary  efforts  we  have  deemed  a  worthy  tribute  to 
their  memory,  as  most  surely  does  it  afford  a  pleasing  con 
solation  to  our  own  hearts.  Intellectual  flowers  they  are, 
cultivated  in  the  early  spring  time  of  their  authors'  ex 
istence.  They  have  not  around  and  in  them  the  appear 
ance  of  maturity.  They  do  not  challenge  public  scru 
tiny.  They  have  sprung  up  from  youthful  hearts. 
They  have  the  simplicity,  and  freshness,  and  purity  of 
youth,  and  over  them  has  death  shed  an  interest,  tender 
and  melancholy.  Flowers  we  have  called  them,  but  we 
trust,  that  not  like  earthly  flowers,  will  they  fade  and 
decay,  but  long  abide  green  and  flourishing  in  many 
memories. 

We  cannot  engage  in  the  chill  and  critical  vocation  of 
pointing  out  merits  and  defects,  but  we  may  perhaps  be 


483 


IV  PREFACE. 

pardoned  in  briefly  alluding  to  the  religious  spirit  which, 
as  it  were,  embalms  and  consecrates  these  composi 
tions.  Like  a  holy  light,  it  seems  to  surround  and  per 
vade  them  all.  It  imparts  to  them  their  greatest 
charm.  Piety  was  thoroughly  intermingled  with  their 
authors'  every  thought,  and  feeling,  and  emotion.  It 
had  been  breathed  into  their  bosoms  almost  with  their 
breath  of  life.  It  not  only  served  to  guide  them  aright 
in  their  brief  intercourse  with  their  fellow  beings,  but 
likewise  bathed,  and  with  its  influence  hallowed,  their 
intellectual  offspring.  We  more  intensely  feel  how  great 
a  loss  we  have  suffered  in  their  death,  when  we  reflect 
that  not  only  have  their  gifted  intellects  passed  beyond 
the  silent  shores,  but  likewise  have  passed  away  hearts 
filled  with  religious  motives  and  inspired  writh  religious 
energy  to  direct  and  invigorate  those  intellects  in  their 
earthly  course.  When  such  beings  disappear  from  the 
midst  of  us,  we  do  not  more  mourn  the  vacancy  made  in 
our  circle  of  companions  and  of  friends,  than  lament  the 
loss  sustained  by  society  and  the  world. 

As  has  already  been  suggested,  this  volume  is  not  de 
signed  to  be  tried  in  the  ordeal  of  public  literary  criti 
cism.  It  is  intended  for  the  eye  of  those  who  had  the 
happiness  of  its  authors'  personal  acquaintance,  and  of 
those  to  whom  the  reputation  of  their  talents  and  their 
worth  had  been  extended.  Unto  such  we  trust  it  may 
prove  a  not  unworthy  memorial,  and  be  affectionately 
cherished  as  a  faint,  intellectual'Teature  of  those  whose 
natural  faces  can  now  be  seen  no  more  ; — and  may  the 
spirit  which  lives  and  breathes  in  its  pages — a  spirit 
heavenly  and  pure — live  ever  strong  and  youthful  in  our 
hearts,  and  be  breathed  forth  daily  in  our  lives. 


CONTENTS. 


COMPOSITIONS,  &c.  OF  J.  A.  BARRETT. 

Page 

Is  there  a  God  ? 9 

Lines,  written  during  the  year  1827,  at  the  age  of  fifteen     .  10 

Lines,  addressed  to  a  friend,  in  1830 12 

Lines,  addressed  to  other  friends 13,  14,  15 

Lines,  written  in  his  Sister's  Album 16 

A  strong  attachment  to  literature 19 

Advantages  of  adversity       22 

A  walk 27 

The  love  of  novelty 31 

Monuments 37 

Lines,  written  at  New-Haven,  for  his  sister 38 

The  mind 40 

Man 43 

Health  and  sickness 44 

Lines,  found  in  the  author's  pocket-book  after  his  death    .     .  45 

Letters  to  his  parents  and  sisters 47 


Obituary  notice,  written  by  a  Classmate 55 

A  sermon 59 

Lines  sung  after  the  delivery  of  the  sermon 79 


VI 


COMPOSITIONS  OF  EMILY  M.  BARRETT. 

Page 
Amusements 83 

Enthusiasm g5 

Priscilla  N g7 

Human  vicissitudes gg 

Washington  and  Columbus       91 

Conversation  between  a  gentleman  and  his  son       ....  94 

Thoughts,  suggested  by  leaving  school        98 

The  Bible       99 

Brief  sketch 104 

Lines  written  on  her  death 109 

Inscriptions       112 


APPENDIX. 

Letters  sent  to  the  Parents  of  the  deceased    ,  113 


COMPOSITIONS,  &c. 


JOSEPH      A.      BARRETT. 


COMPOSITIONS, 

4* 


IS  there  a  God  ?     All  nature  cries  there  is — 
The  Sun  exclaims — What  but  a  God  gave  me 
Existence,  set  my  bounds  in  the  wide  fields 
Of  ether,  and  supplies  my  glowing  flames 
With  ever-needed  aliment  ?     The  stars, 
Those  shining  orbs  that  move  in  distant  realms 
Of  space,  and  gild  the  clear  nocturnal  sky, 
Exclaim, — What  but  a  God  caused  us  to  be — 
Suspended  us  on  nothing,  and  preserves 
That  order  and  that  harmony,  which  mark 
Our  revolutions  ?     But  resplendent  suns 
And  circling  worlds  do  not  alone  proclaim 
A  God's  existence.     We  ourselves,  though  mute, 
Declare  the  truth.     What  but  a  God  could  form 
The  human  frame — that  thousand-stringed  harp 
And  every  string  preserve  in  tune  ?     A  grain 
Of  sand — a  spire  of  grass  may  also  teach 
2 


10  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

The  solemn,  pleasing  truth — and  should  convince. 
In  full,  the  unbelieving  Atheist. 


LINES, 

Written  during  the  year  1827,  at  the  age  of  fifteen. 

THIS  life's  a  state  of  care  and  pain, 
Its  pleasures  all,  how  few,  how  vain  ! 
No  solid  good  can  man  possess, 
No  lasting  peace  can  mortals  bless. 

Afflictions  sore,  disease  and  wo, 
Attend  us  all  where'er  we  go, 
No  place  is  found,  or  far  or  near. 
Secure  from  sorrow  and  from  fear. 

From  infancy's  first  helpless  hour, 
Till  we  arrive  at  manhood's  power. 
Within  ourselves  we  ever  find 
A  restless,  agitated  mind. 

Not  all  the  honors  of  the  state, 
Not  all  the  glories  of  the  great, 
Can  unremitting  joys  impart. 
Or  e'en  bestow  a  tranquil  heart. 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  11 

From  glittering  wealth  and  gaudy  show, 
Not  ease  nor  happiness  can  flow, 
Dangers  and  trials  each  surround, 
The  beggar  low  and  monarch  crown'd. 

Though  bound  in  friendship's  strongest  ties, 

Where  earthly  joys  most  pure  arise, 

Still  we  pursue  a  thorny  way, 

Still  treach'rous  paths  themselves  display. 

The  dearest  friends  we  can  obtain, 
To  cheer  us  through  this  world  of  pain, 
Death,  conquering  king,  oft  summons  hentv 
To  leave  the  things  of  time  and  sense. 

Since  naught  enduring  is  below, 
And  death  and  pain  walk  to  and  fro, 
Enjoyment  true  must  not  be  sought, 
From  transient  scenes  with  bubbles  fraught 

Then  let  us  place  our  hopes  above, 
Built  on  a  Saviour's  dying  love, 
That  when  this  mortal  life  shall  end, 
Jesus  shall  be  our  gracious  friend. 

Fly,  time,  O  fly  on  swifter  wing, 
That  joyful  hour  O  quickly  bring, 
When  we  ourselves  shall  soar  away, 
To  regions  of  eternal  day. 


12  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

LINES, 

Addressed  to  a  friend  in  1830. 

WHILE  traveling  through  this  "  vale  of  tears," 
This  world  of  cares,  and  doubts,  and  fears, 
To  us  his  kindly  aid  to  lend, 
How  much  we  need  the  faithful  Friend. 

A  Friend,  a  Friend,  true  and  sincere  ! 
A  sound  how  sweet,  a  name  how  dear  ! 
Of  greater  worth  than  sapphire  gems, 
And  princely,  splendid  diadems. 

But  friendship,  though  a  grateful  balm 
Life's  ills  to  soothe,  its  sorrows  calm, 
Though  such  support  therefrom  we  gain, 
At  times  is  e'en  the  source  of  pain. 

With  Friends  the  dearest  to  our  heart, 
Alas  !  we  often  have  to  part ; 
To  those  most  loved,  most  kind  and  true, 
We  often  have  to  bid  "  Adieu." 

Now  should  it  be  our  lot,  my  Friend, 
'Neath  different  skies  our  days  to  spend, 
Where  'twill  no  more  to  us  be  given, 
To  see  each  other  under  Heaven, 


13 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT. 

Be  sure,  though  this  should  be  our  lot, 
By  me  you  ne'er  will  be  forgot ;    + 
My  thoughts  will  love,  yes,  ever  well, 
On  our  acquaintance  past  to  dwell. 

May  you,  where'er  you  roam  or  rest, 
Be  with  the  richest  favors  blest, 
Heaven,  all-indulgent,  does  bestow 
On  frail  and  feeble  men  blow. 

And  when  the  scenes  of  life  are  o'er, 
May  you  attain  fair  "  Canaan's  shore," 
With  God,  a  never  failing  Friend, 
An  immortality  to  spend. 


Tlie  following  were  written  for  other  friends   about  the 
same  time. 

As  down  the  stream  of  time  we  sail, 
The  current  swift,  and  strong  the  gale, 
Our  little  barks  all  sprung  a  leak. 
And  we  so  tempest-worn  and  weak, 
Will  One  Almighty  condescend, 
To  be  our  pilot  and  our  friend  ? 
If  so — that  guide,  that  friend  divine, 
My  fellow  passenger,  be  thine. 

As  fearful  clouds  involve  our  sky, 
And  angry  storms  seem  gath'ring  nigh, 
2* 


14  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

Is  there  a  star  whose  radiant  glow, 
May  yet  illume  our  course  below  ? 
Whose  beam  can  pierce  the  shades  of  night, 
And  yield  a  pure  and  heavenly  light  ? 
If  so — that  star  illume  thy  way, 
To  the  bright  realms  of  endless  day. 


WHILE  in  our  youth  how  apt  are  we 
To  think  our  future  life  will  be 

A  peaceful  happy  state  ; 
To  think  no  scenes  of  sore  distress, 
Of  anguish,  wo,  and  wretchedness, 

Our  coming  years  await. 
We  often  dream  it  will  be  ours, 
Through  life  to  walk  in  pleasure's  bowers. 
Adorned  with  pleasure's  sweetest  flowers. 

But,  Caroline,  the  dream  how  vain  ! 
We  carft  below  live  free  from  pain, 

From  sorrow,  care  and  toil : 
Happiness  is  a  plant  indeed, 
Springing  from  too  celestial  seed, 

To  thrive  on  earthly  soil. 
Yet  I  would  say,  what  man  can  know 
Of  joy  and  peace,  while  here  below, 
May  gracious  Heaven  on  thee  bestow. 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT. 


WHILE  the  freshness  of  youth  pervades  the  frame, 

And  the  tide  of  feeling  is  high, 
Then  we  fancy  that  things  deserve  the  name, 

Which  they  go  most  commonly  by. 

E'er  we  feel  disappointment's  ruthless  hand. 

So  depressing,  so  damping,  so  cold, 
What  resembles  the  rock — this  cartt  be  sand — 

And  what  shines,  is  certainly  gold, 

But  as  time  in  its  course  adds  years  to  years, 
We  perceive  at  length  our  mistake  ; 

And  we  grieve  that  so  poor  and  false  appears- 
What  could  once  such  promises  make. 

But  let  short  be  our  grief — for  man's  design'd 

For  a  world  far  better  than  this ; 
Where  he  may,  through  rich  grace,  in  glory  find 

An  abode  of  permanent  bliss. 


16  COMPOSITIONS    BY 


The.  following  lines  were  written  in  a  Sister's  Album,  in 
the  Autumn  of  1931,  previous  to  leaving  home  for 
College. 

NARCISSA,  as  these  leaves  you  turn, 
A  brother's  name  you'll  here  discern ; 
So  stop  a  moment,  and  review 
The  lines  which  Joseph  penn'd  for  you. 

LIFE'S  busy  stage,  whose  curtain  you  have  raised, 
Is  throng'd  by  men  of  every  hue,  and  shade 
Of  character : — as  well  by  those  whose  heart 
Is  all  corrupt,  who  never  yet  have  done 
A  manly  deed,  nor  thought  a  manly  thought, 
Whose  follies,  and  whose  crimes,  make  them  the  bane 
Of  all  society,  and  render  them 
The  world's  disgrace, — as  those  whose  conduct  says, 
Their  rule  of  action  is  the  "  golden  rule," — 
Who  "  noble  ends  by  noble  means  pursue," — 
"  Who  find  their  bliss  in  seeing  others  blest," — 
And  whom  their  real  virtues  elevate 
Almost  above  the  reach  of  calumny's, 
Or  envy's  shafts.     On  such  a  varied  stage, 
You,  you,  Narcissa,  have  a  part  to  act : 
And  would  you  act  it  well  ?     You  little  think 
What  difficulties  will  attend  its  fit 
And  right  performance ; — what  allurements,  vicf 
And  folly  will  spread  thick  on  every  side 


JOSEPH    A,    BARRETT,  17 

Around  you,  to  attract  your  eye,  and  win 

Your  heart,  and  draw  you  into  paths  that  fools 

Delight  to  tread.     For,  though  you  here  and  there 

May  see  fair  virtue  on  its  snow-white  throne, 

In  its  own  dignity  and  loveliness  ; — 

Vice  all  around  will  sit,  its  turpitude 

Concealed  beneath  ten  thousand,  thousand  forms 

Of  seeming  beauty,  to  allure,  to  tempt, 

And  to  destroy.     But  do  not  yet  despair, 

Here  read  a  brother's  counsel  and  obey. 

Banish,  O  !   banish  from  your  heart,  the  low 
And  sordid  principles  of  self,  and  let 
The  virtue  of  benevolence  reign  there  : — 
A  virtue  lovely  wheresoe'er  it  dwells, 
But  loveliest  dwelling  in  the  female  breast. 
Let  generous  motives  prompt  to  generous  acts. 
Nor  think,  Narcissa,  always  to  escape 
The  darts  of  malice,  and  the  taunts  of  blame. 
Man  may  mistake  the  worthiest  design, 
And  readily  condemn  the  noblest  deed. — 
Yea  more — man,  strange  to  tell,  man  may  despise 
The  heart  that  loves  him  best,  and  execrate 
The  hand  that  gives  him  most.     But  O  !  beware, 
Beware  of  flattery's  smile,  and  flattery's  praise. 
Its  smile  may  poison  and  its  praise  may  kill. 
Suspect  its  fascinating  look — and  scorn 
Its  slippery  tongue — and  flee  its  sweet-toned  voice, 
As  the  vile  serpent's  bite,  or  scorpion's  sting. 


18  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

When  care  oppresses,  and  when  doubts  perplex, 
When  troubles  harass,  and  when /ears  disturb, 
Resort  to  Wisdom  for  its  kind  advice, 
And  learn  from  sage  Experience. — Nor  scorn, 
O  !  never  scorn  the  counsel  of  the  poor. 
The  meanest  box  may  hide  the  richest  gem. 

And,  Mary,  when  your  duty  you  have  learn'd, — 
Though  mountains  must  be  climbed — though  oceans 

crossed — 

Though  slander  rail — though  calumny  reproach — 
Though  friends  forsake — though  every  ill  betide — 
Heedless  of  all,  that  duty  promptly  do. 
Of  you,  Narcissa,  let  it  ne'er  be  said, — 
"  She  knew  her  duty  but  she  did  it  not." 

Although,  when  duty  calls,  your  heart  and  hand 
Should  act  in  unison  with  energy 
And  with  decision,  modesty  should  still 
Possess  your  breast,  and  grace  your  every  deed. 
Departed  is  her  innocence,  whose  heart 
Knows  not  the  quicken'd  throb,  and  gone,  ah  !  gone. 
Her  beauty  and  her  loveliness,  whose  cheek 
Knows  not  the  crimson  tint. 

But  now  to  close. 

Let  every  virtue,  social  and  divine, 
Be  yours  ; — yours  to  ennoble  and  adorn — 
Yours  to  support  and  cheer — yours  to  direct 
And  guide — and  yours  that  glory  to  insure, 
No  mortal  eye  hath  seen,  or  heart  conceived. 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  19 


A  STRONG  ATTACHMENT   TO  LITERATURE. 
Written  while  a  member  of  college  in  1832. 

THE  term  knowledge  is  one  of  general  import.  Lit 
erature  is  a  species  of  knowledge.  Science  is  another 
species.  Erudition  differs  from  both  literature  and  sci 
ence, — but  yet  constitutes  another  species  of  knowl 
edge.  Thus  we  might  go  on  and  specify  various  other 
modifications  and  forms  of  the  same.  But  this  is  un 
necessary.  Definitely,  then,  what  is  literature  ?  In 
other  words,  what  is  that  peculiar  modification  of 
knowledge,  denoted  by  this  term?  We  answer,  general 
information  obtained  through  the  medium  of  writings. 
All  knowledge  obtained  through  this  medium  is  not 
literature.  Science  is  a  species  of  knowledge  character 
ized  by  order  and  system,  and  frequently  distinguished 
for  the  clearness  and  certainty  of  its  principles,  For 
example,  such  is  the  case  with  Geometry  :  and  hence 
Geometry  is  termed  a  science.  But  a  knowledge  of 
Geometry  may  be  acquired  through  the  medium  of 
writings  : — and  the  same  is  true  in  respect  to  the  other 
sciences.  Therefore  all  knowledge  derived  through 
this  medium  is  not  literature. 

General  information,  obtained  through  this  medi 
um,  constitutes,  we  have  said,  that  modification  of 
knowledge,  now  under  discussion.  By  general  infor- 


20 


COMPOSITIONS    BY 


mation,  thus  derived,  we  here  mean,  not  a  species  of 
knowledge,  acquired  through  the  medium  of  writings, 
profound  and  unintelligible  in  its  nature,  and  capable 
of  being  apprehended  by  only  a  gifted  few  ; — but  an 
acquaintance,  thus  obtained,  with  men — with  things — 
with  the  world,  in  the  general : — an  acquaintance  of 
a  common,  or  general  relation  ; — an  acquaintance  with 
subjects  of  a  prevalent  or  general  interest,  and  such  as 
are  open  to  the  examination  of  all.  In  the  sense  now 
explained,  writings,  such  as  the  following — poetical, 
historical,  critical,  elegant,  &c.  may  be  denominated 
works  of  literature.  Where  writings  of  this  nature  are 
not  found,  literature  cannot  properly  be  said  to  exist. 

The  savages  of  America  are  destitute  of  such  writ 
ings,  and  of  course  possess  no  literature  :  for  they  want 
the  very  means  of  its  acquisition. 

We  next  remark  that  a  strong  attachment  to  this  spe 
cies  of  knowledge  is,  in  a  high  degree,  advantageous 
and  important.  After  showing  the  truth  of  this  propo 
sition,  we  shall  extend  our  observations  no  farther. 

That  knowledge  is  desirable,  few  will  deny.  Can  it 
be  that  in  the  human  bosom  the  benevolent  author  of 
nature  has  implanted  a  desire  so  ardent,  so  incessant,  as 
man's  love  of  knowledge,  merely  to  incite  him  to  the 
acquisition  of  what  is  calculated  to  yield  no  enjoyment 
and  confer  no  benefit  ? 

That  that  modification  of  knowledge  denominated 
literature  is  a  desirable  good,  we  need  not  affirm.  If 
then  literature  is  itself  valuable,  it  follows  that  an  at 
tachment  to  its  pursuits  is  advantageous  and  important 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  21 

For  universally,  whatever  good  is  the  object  of  attach 
ment  and  devotion,  the  stronger  that  attachment,  and 
the  warmer  that  devotion,  the  more  of  the  good  in 
question  will  be  secured.  Hence  the  interest  felt  is  ad 
vantageous  in  proportion  to  its  intensity  :  and  the 
greater  the  advantage  of  the  interest,  the  greater  its 
importance.  If  literature,  therefore,  be  of  but  little 
value,  a  strong  attachment  to  it  is  advantageous  and 
important,  inasmuch  as  such  attachment  is  essential  to 
the  securing  of  the  small  benefit,  which,  in  that  case, 
may  be  acquired. 

But  that  literature  is  more  than  a  mere  ordinary 
good,  every  reflecting  mind  must  admit.  Compare  the 
man  of  literature  and  refinement  with  the  wild  and  un 
tutored  savage  :  and  tell  me,  has  the  former  no  more 
correct  ideas  of  the  relations  and  the  object  of  life, — no 
greater  elevation  and  purity  of  feeling, — no  richer,  and 
higher,  and  nobler  sources  of  enjoyment,  than  the  lat 
ter  ?  Compare,  too,  the  community  that  may  be  de 
nominated  literary,  with  one  that  has  no  claim  to  such 
a  title: — and  tell  me,  in  which  are  the  blessings  of  civ 
ilization  and  religion  the  more  widely  diffused,  and 
generally  enjoyed?  In  which  are  the  principles  of  so 
cial  compact  the  more  correctly  understood,  and  the  ad 
vantages  of  a  well  organized  society  the  more  fully  se 
cured  ?  In  which  are  there  the  less  narrowness  of 
mind,  and  degradation  of  character  ? 

We  infer,  then,   that  literature  is  a  great  individual 
and   national  good.     We   have  already  shown   an   at- 
3 


22  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

tachment  to  it,  considered  as  an  ordinary  good,  to  be 
beneficial  and  important.  But  admitting  it,  as  we 
must,  to  be  a  good  peculiarly  great,  we  conclude,  on 
the  same  principles  of  reasoning,  that  a  strong  attach 
ment  to  it.  is,  in  a  high  degree,  advantageous  and  im 
portant. 

We  pursue  the  subject  no  farther. 


ADVANTAGES    OF    ADVERSITY. 

ADVERSITY  is  a  term  the  import  of  which  none  can 
mistake.  For  where  is  the  man  whose  own  experience 
has  not  taught  him  its  signification  ?  Where  the  man 
upon  whose  path  the  sun  of  prosperity  has  ever  shone 
unclouded  and  serene?  Where  the  man  whom  the 
thought  of  hopes  deceived  and  prospects  darkened  has 
never  forced  to  drop  tbe  tear  of  sorrow  over  the  insta 
bility  of  worldly  good  ? 

In  a  world  like  ours,  life  and  suffering  are  insepara 
ble.  The  former  necessarily  implies  at  least  the  occa 
sional  experience  of  the  latter.  Not  a  beast  that  roams 
the  fields,  not  a  bird  that  skims  the  air,  not  one  of  the 
myriads  of  the  brute  creation,  is  always  exempt  from 
pain.  But  of  all  the  tenants  of  the  earth,  man  is  the 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  23 

most  susceptible  of  suffering.  And  as  his  is  the  high 
est  capacity  for  it,  so  also  is  his  the  greatest  liability  to 
it.  This  liability  results  necessarily  from  his  very  na 
ture  and  circumstances.  Possessing  a  mind  of  bound 
less  aspirations,  yet  living  in  a  world  where  the  objects 
of  them,  either  cannot  be  reached,  or,  if  attained,  are 
incapable  of  yielding  the  satisfaction  they  promised  ; — 
sustaining  a  variety  of  social  relations,  yet  existing  in  a 
state  in  which  the  tenderest  ties  of  love  and  friendship 
must  needs  be  often  severed  ; — a  being  so  restricted  in 
his  powers  as  to  be  insufficient  to  parry  a  thousand  ills 
which  any  means  above  his  own  infirmities  seem  ade 
quate  to  remove  ;  and  so  limited  in  his  knowledge,  as 
to  be  unable  to  anticipate  a  thousand  others,  which,  if 
foreseen,  even  he  might  escape  ; — and,  finally,  infected 
as  he  is  with  the  poison  of  moral  pollution,  the  grand 
source  of  all  misery,  man  must  expect  to  eat  the  bread 
of  disappointment,  and  drink  from  the  cup  of  adver 
sity. 

Suffering,  then,  is  the  necessary  lot  of  beings  like 
ourselves.  And  here  the  question  very  naturally  arises, 
is  human  suffering  the  endurance  of  positive  pain,  con 
nected  with  no  redeeming  advantages  ? 

I  answer,  some  men  there  are  who  derive  but  too 
evidently  no  benefit  whatever  from  the  experience  of 
the  ills  "that  flesh  is  heir  too," — who  gain  nothing 
which  makes  the  least  amends  for  their  severity.  We 
may  go  still  farther,  and  say,  that  these  same  men  who 


24  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

thus  receive  from  adversity  no  redeeming  good  are 
more  than  mere  sufferers  for  the  time  being,  and  in  a 
necessary  degree.  Under  the  pressure  of  unavoidable 
evils,  they  conclude,  in  despair,  that  the  world  is  but 
the  abode  of  misery,  and  that  life  is  made  up  of  wretch 
edness.  Possessing  these  extravagant  ideas,  they  yield 
themselves  to  a  stupid  indifference  about  the  allotments 
of  fortune,  abandon  their  interest  in  the  concerns  of 
the  world  around  them,  remit  all  efforts  for  their  own 
or  others'  benefit,  and  become  purely  misanthropic  in 
their  feelings  and  temperament.  Show  me  the  men 
who  are  indifferent  to  the  fate  which  befals  them,  and 
ungrateful  for  benefits  received,  and  callous  to  others' 
woes,  and  unmoved  by  others'  joys,  and  destitute  of  all 
refinement  of  feeling  and  nobleness  of  soul, — and  I  will 
point  you  to  those  whom  adversity  has  failed  to  profit. 

In  most  cases,  however,  adversity  is  not  without  its 
advantages.  Its  legitimate  influence  is  most  salutary. 
Said  a  philosopher  of  Rome,  who  weighed  well  the 
sentiments  he  uttered, — "  bona  rerum  secundarum  op- 
tabilia,  adversarum  mirabilia." 

Adversity  naturally  tends  to  render  its  subject  patient 
and  acquiescent  under  the  inevitable  trials  of  life. 
This  patient  submission  to  unavoidable  suffering  is  a 
thing  widely  different  from  that  stoical  insensibility  just 
now  alluded  to.  The  one  is  meek  and  innocent,  the 
other  is  obstinate  and  culpable.  The  one  is  a  trait 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT. 


25 


which  ennobles  and  adorns,  the  other  a  trait  which  de 
grades  and  disgraces. 

Now  this  acquiescence,  so  honorable,  so  important, 
it  is  the  grand  tendency  of  suffering  to  produce.  The 
man,  then,  who  resists  not  this  tendency,  who  closes 
not  the  avenues  of  his  heart  against  the  salutary  ad 
monitions  of  adversity,  is  strengthening  himself  with  a 
principle,  which  once  acquired,  not  the  wealth  of  the 
Indies  would  tempt  him  to  abandon. 

Adversity  too  is  suited  to  induce  a  higher  ami  more 
correct  estimate  of  the  value  of  prosperity,  and  to  in 
crease  the  pleasure  it  affords.  Behold  the  man,  whom 
a  wasting  disease  has  long  confined  to  a  bed  of  an 
guish.  His  pallid  face  and  emaciated  form  evince  but 
too  clearly  the  extent  of  his  sufferings.  At  last,  how 
ever,  returning  strength  invigorates  his  frame,  and  joy 
lights  up  his  countenance.  He  can  now  appreciate 
what  he  could  not  before — the  value  of  health.  He 
breathes  a  fresher  atmosphere,  and  views  a  richer  land 
scape,  and  tills  a  mellower  soil,  and  lives  a  happier  life, 
than  before  he  felt  the  stings  of  suffering,  and  drank 
from  the  cup  of  sorrow.  Thus  may  adversity  cause 
us  to  estimate  more  highly  the  good  things  we  are  per 
mitted  to  enjoy  ;  and  thus  may  it  augment  the  pleasure 
they  had  otherwise  imparted.  We  are  unable  to  judge 
of  the  real  value  of  a  particular  good,  until  that  good 
has  been  taken  from  us.  On  its  after  restoration,  or 
the  receipt  of  a  corresponding  good,  we  experience  a 
3* 


26  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

higher  satisfaction,  as  well  as  estimate  more  properly 
its  worth,  than  previously  the  nature  of  the  case 
allowed. 

Once  more :— Adversity  is  suited  to  awaken  a  spirit 
of  benevolence  on  the  part  of  its  subjects.  On  the  na 
ture  of  this  spirit  T  will  not  descant.  Who  does  not 
know  that  no  spirit  so  pure  warms  the  breast,  and  in 
cites  the  powers  of  man  ?  We  are  not  inclined  to  feel 
for  others,  until  we  know  experimentally  the  sufferings 
of  others.  Adversity  teaches  us  these  sufferings.  Our 
sympathies,  it  would  seem,  must  needs  be  roused,  the 
finer  feelings  of  the  soul  brought  into  exercise,  our  so 
cial  affections  extended  to  every  child  of  want  and  sor 
row,  and  a  flame  of  universal  benevolence  lighted  up 
within  us. 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  tendencies  of  adversity.  Let 
them  be  but  unresisted — Fet  not  the  bad  passions  and 
inclinations  of  man  operate  against  them — and  who 
will  compute  the  consequent  good  ? 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  27 


A     W  A  L  K. 

ALL  then  was  still  and  calm.     The  orh  of  day. 
In  all  its  dazzling  splendor,  had  retired 
Behind  the  western  hills.     No  pendent  cloud 
Obscured  the  heavenly  vault,  which,  here  a  star, 
And  there  a  star,  of  dim  and  paly  light, 
Presented  to  the  gazer's  view.     The  earth, 
So  late  held  fast  in  winter's  icy  chains, 
Spring's  gentler  power,  adorning  her  anew, 
Was  clothing  with  her  livery  of  green. 
Musing  in  thoughtful  silence  on  the  works, 
The  wonderous  works  of  nature,  which  appeared 
Beneath,  around,  above,  I  took  my  way 
Through  blooming  fields,  and  through  inviting  woods. 

At  the  still  hour  of  eventide,  when  man, 
And  beast,  and  nature,  all  incline  to  rest, 
'Tis  sweet  to  close  the  book  of  classic  lore, 
To  leave  behind  Minerva's  dusty  walls, 
And,  unattended,  roam  the  smiling  fields : — 
To  trace  the  rural  stream,  as  now  it  glides 
Unruffled  on,  and  now,  with  murmuring  sound, 
Flies  its  ungentle  bed  ; — ascend  the  hill, 
White  with  the  fleecy  flock,  whose  summit  towers 
Above  the  neighb'ring  spire,  and  bring  to  view 


28  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

A  thousand  varied  scenes : — and  thence  withdraw 
Into  the  rich,  yet  humble  vale  below, 
Survey  its  beauties,  pluck  its  op'ning  flowers, 
And  breathe  its  balmy  air.     Nor  only  tend 
Such  rambles  to  relax  the  mind,  and  please 
The  fancy,  but  to  elevate  the  thoughts 
To  him  who  is  the  first  great  cause  of  all ; — 
Raise  them  "  through  nature  up  to  nature's  God." 

Onward  I  passed.     Methought  nor  man's  abode, 
Nor  fellow  man  himself  was  near  my  path. 
The  fields  I  walk'd,  I  seem'd  to  walk  alone. 
The  scenes  I  view'd,  I  seemM  to  view  alone. 
But  no  :  at  length,  not  distant  for,  appeared 
A  pensive  sage,  just  entering  a  rich 
And  verdant  bower.     The  dignity  of  age, — 
The  gravity  of  thought. — made  him,  in  truth, 
The  seeming  Genius  of  the  rural  place. 
Forthwith  I  hasten'd  to  his  sylvan  shade  ;  — 
For,  although  solitude  I  love,  1  love 
To  tell  a  friend  "  how  sweet  is  solitude." 
"  Welcome,"  he  said,  "  to  this  my  fav'rite  bower  :— 
Removed  from  all  the  scenes  of  active  life, 
Inhabiting  alone  these  still  retreats, 
I  love  at  times  to  see  another's  face, 
And  hear  another's  voice."     "  Sire,"  I  replied, 
"  Your  wrinkled  brow,  and  hoary  locks,  bespeak 
You  past  your  threescore  years  and  ten.     To  you 
The  world  must  seem  divested  of  those  charms, 
Those  gorgeous  charms,  which  unsuspecting  youth, 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  29 

Is  ever  prone  to  think  the  world's  attire. 
But  is  the  world  bereft  of  every  charm  ? 
Can  its  society,  and  its  pursuits. 
Afford  you  no  delight?     Or  why,  my  friend, 
Why  thus  retire  fiom  all  its  diverse  scenes? 
Why  live  'alike  unknowing  and  unknown  ?'  " 

"  My  tale,"  he  said,  "  is  short,  but  such,  perhaps, 
As  may  your  youthful  ardor  damp — your  hopes 
Of  earthly  good  depress.     I  know  when  life 
Begins,  and  life's  pursuits  are  strange  and  new, 
We  fondly  dream,  no  thorns  beset  our  way — 
No  clouds  involve  our  sky.     Let  age  instruct. 

In  early  youth  I  chose  the  students  path, 
I  thought  it,  then,  a  smooth  and  flowery  track, 
Which  would  conduct  to  happiness.     Ofttimes 
Did  sage  experience  whisper  me  '  beware — 
For  disappointment  lurks  in  every  path.' — 
Yet,  sure,  said  I,  it  cannot  lurk  in  mine. 
With  unremitting  ardour  I  explor'd 
The  classic  page,  and  almost  nightly  trimmed 
The  midnight  lamp : — resolved  to  know,  in  full, 
What  knowledge  is,  and  reap  in  full  its  fruits, 
But  all  in  vain.     The  more  1  knew,  the  more 
I  wished  to  know,  and  thus  the  worse  my  case. 
Yes,  learning  said,  c  'tis  for  from  me  to  give 
Substantial  peace.'     At  length  resolv'd  to  try 
Another,  and,  I  hoped,  a  smoother  path, 
I  courted  public  honor  and  applause. 


30  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

Short  was  my  way  to  fame.     But  fame  procured 

Is  what?     Ask  Caesar's  or  Napoleon's  tomb. 

Ah  !  fame  said  too  '  'tis  far  from  me  to  give 

Enduring  peace.'     But  sure,  thought  I,  the  path, 

Which  leads  to  wealth^  must  lead  to  happiness. 

That  path  I  next  pursued.     For  wealth  1  toil'd, 

And  wealth  I  soon  obtained  ; — yet,  after  all, 

A  shadowy  phantom  grasp'd.     Wealth  plainly  said, 

"Tis  not  in  me  to  calm  the  restless  mind.' 

Friends  once  I  had.     I  had  ?  I  had  them  not  : — 

For  seeming  friends  are  seldom  friends  indeed. 

The  world's  false  friendship  said,  '  'tis  not  in  me 

To  soothe  the  turmoil  of  the  human  breast.' 

At  length  taught  in  experience'  school,  I  learn'd 

The  truth — life's  common  are  but  thorny  paths. 

One  path  remained — the  path  the  hermit  walks. 

Perhaps,  thought  1,  the  germ  of  happiness 

May  lurk  therein  : — I'll  search,  at  least,  and  see. 

Here  in  '  these  still  retreats,  this  calm  domain,' 

My  God  my  only  friend,  1  have  a  peace 

The  busy  world  could  never,  never  give  ; — 

Yet  whispers  even  solitude — '  full  bliss 

Is  bliss  divine.' "     So  spake  the  hoary  sage. 

And  though  the  thought  impress'd  me,  that  to  leave 

Life's  social  walks,  although  beset  with  thorns, 

Unable  quite  to  yield  the  fragrant  flowers 

Of  unalloy'd  experience — to  leave 

Those  walks,  and  live,  while  live  we  may,  the  sons 

Of  lone  retirement,  cannot  but  evince 

Some  lack  of  perfect  wisdom,  when  the  world, 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  31 

A  field  of  such  extent,  and  overrun 

With  weeds  and  tares,  but  of  such  promise  fair. 

If  once  restored  to  its  primeval  state, 

Calls,  calls  aloud  for  laborers — yet  much 

Of  truth  I  heard,  and  much  the  lesson  priz'd. 


THE    LOVE    OF    NOVELTY. 
Written  at  College  in  the  Autumn  of  1832. 

SEE  now,  in  mental  vision,  a  caravan  just  completing 
their  journey  over  the  wide  and  trackless  desert — where 
no  natural  variety  exists  to  draw  the  eye,  and  excite  the 
attention.  Why  beams  every  countenance  with  new 
animation,  and  throbs  every  heart  with  fresh  delight  ? 
Ah  !  the  sameness  and  the  dullness  of  the  desert  no 
longer  mark  the  way  ; — but  novel  scenes,  and  variegated 
prospects  rise  to  animate  and  cheer. 

See,  too,  the  mariner  just  approaching  the  shore, 
after  having  experienced  for  months  the  unwelcome 
sameness  of  "  the  world  of  waters."  Why  is  pleasure 


32  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

depicted  on  his  countenance,  the  unerring  index  of  his 
heart,  as  he  beholds  at  length  the  port  of  his  destination, 
and  the  blue  hills  that  rise  beyond  it  1  He,  too,  has  in 
prospect  other  objects  to  attract  his  notice,  and  novel 
scenes  to  awake  his  interest. 

These  are  but  particular  instances  in  which  are 
manifest  the  workings  of  that  principle  of  our  nature 
commonly  called  the  love  of  novjelty.  It  has  its  seat  in 
every  breast : — not  always,  and  in  all  cases  possessing 
equal  strength,  but  never,  and  in  no  case  failing  to 
operate.  The  influence  of  this  principle  extends  to  the 
child  in  its  cradle,  as  well  as  the  man  in  his  maturity. 
The  infant  feels  and  manifests  its  power,  when  the 
rattle  that  pleased,  and  the  straw  that  tickled,  are 
thrown  away  in  dislike  or  abhorrence, — whilst  new 
toys  are  sought  to  impart  a  momentary  delight  and 
meet  a  similar  fate. 

In  the  young  the  love  of  novelty  is  probably  strong 
est.  The  reason  is  obvious.  We  enter  the  stage  of 
human  action  unacquainted,  of  course,  with  the  na 
ture  of  our  own  minds,  and  the  character  of  terrestrial 
objects.  Possessing  an  instinctive  love  of  happiness, 
and  knowing  not,  experimentally,  the  difficulty  of  its 
attainment,  we  are  prone,  while  young,  to  cherish  high 
hopes  of  earthly  enjoyment,  and  to  calculate  on  the 
unchanging  permanency  of  human  things.  As  one 
object  becomes  stale  and  tiresome,  we  conclude,  in  the 
ardor  of  youthful  feeling,  that  other  obiects  cannot  dis- 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  33 

appoint  our  expectations,  and  yield  us  no  enduring 
pleasure.  Hence  we  resort  to  them,  with  all  the  eager 
ness  of  unsuspecting  hope  ; — allured  by  their  specious 
promises  of  perennial  good,  and  propelled  by  the  force 
of  juvenile  passion.  But  as  objects  after  objects  lose 
their  interest,  and  cease  to  gratify,  we  learn,  by  degrees, 
though  seldom  perhaps  in  full,  the  unsatisfying  nature 
of  terrestrial  good.  Of  the  attainment  of  true  happiness, 
derived  from  worldly  sources,  we  consequently  lower 
our  expectations,  and  moderate  our  hopes.  Thus  as 
we  advance  in  years  and  experience,  we  are  wont — not 
indeed  to  lose  all  love  of  what  is  new  and  strange — but 
to  anticipate  less  from  an  acquaintance  with  things  not 
familiar  to  us,  and,  of  course,  to  narrow  those  large 
desires,  and  check  that  wild  pursuit,  after  the  objects  of 
novelty,  which  marked  our  earlier  days. 

The  remarks  already  made  lead  naturally  to  the  in 
ference,  that  the  love  of  novelty  is  not  an  independent 
principle  of  our  nature.  It  is  based  upon  that  ardent 
desire  of  happiness,  which  is  seated  in  the  breast  of 
man.  Such  is  the  nature  of  the  mind,  that  that  desire 
cannot  be  gratified  but  by  variety  and  change. 

"  Prospects,  however  lovely,  may  be  seen 
Till  half  their  beauties  fade:  the  weary  sight 
Too  well  acquainted  with  their  smiles,  slides  off, 
Fastidious,  seeking  less  familiar  scenes." 

Thus  while,  in  our  search   after  happiness,  we  are 
wearied  and  sickened  by  uniformity  and  sameness,  the 
4 


34  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

strength  of  our  governing  passion  (to  wit,  the  love  of 
happiness)  urges  us,  continually,  to  try  new  means  for 
its  gratification,  and  to  lay  hold  with  avidity  on  what 
ever  is  novel  and  fresh. 

The  love  of  novelty  may,  and  often  does,  lead  its 
subject  beyond  the  bounds  of  propriety,  and  into  prac 
tices  of  excess.  This  it  does,  whenever  it  incites  him 
to  a  course  of  action,  which  conscience  cannot  approve, 
and  reason  cannot  sanction.  Every  object  of  novelty  is 
not  an  object  of  innocence.  Every  new  pursuit  is  not 
a  blameless  one.  Much  care,  therefore,  is  requsite,  in 
the  regulation  and  control  of  the  principle  in  question. 
If  we  yield  ourselves,  unreservedly,  to  its  sway,  we 
must  needs  run  into  frequent  excesses,  and  many  and 
palpable  errors. 

We  propose,  in  conclusion,  to  show  that  a  love  of 
novelty,  if  under  a  wise  restraint,  is  a  source  of  much 
rational  and  innocent  enjoyment.  Perfect  happiness 
on  earth  we  are  not  to  expect.  It  is  a  plant  too  celes 
tial  in  its  nature  to  thrive  arnid  the  damps  and  frosts  of 
time.  But  from  the  world,  the  man  who  regards  it 
aright,  and  abuses  it  not,  may  receive  a  no  inconsidera 
ble  amount  of  enjoyment.  That  the  love  of  novelty,  if 
suitably  controlled,  is  a  source  of  much  that  is  rational 
and  innocent,  must  be  obvious  to  every  reflecting  mind. 
A  thirst  for  knowledge  is  common  to  all  mankind. 
Whatever  knowledge  is  rational  and  innocent,  will 
probably  be  allowed  to  give  rise  to  rational  and  innocent 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  35 

enjoyment.  But  the  love  of  novelty,  wisely  regulated, 
incites  to  activity  and  effort,  for  the  attainment  of 
knowledge  of  this  very  description :  and  such  activity 
and  effort,  lead  necessarily  to  the  acquisition  of  that 
knowledge.  Hence,  if  such  knowledge  is  the  direct 
medium  of  such  enjoyment,  the  principle,  which  incites 
to  its  attainment,  is  the  grand  procuring  cause  of  that 
gratification. 

This  we  may  illustrate  by  allusions  to  the  various 
departments  of  life.  Instance,  the  agriculturist.  His 
love  of  novelty,  if  wisely  controlled,  incites  him  to  com 
mendable  efforts  to  acquaint  himself  with  new  methods 
of  prosecuting  the  various  branches  of  his  employment 
at  once  more  pleasant  and  advantageous.  Prompted 
by  this  natural  passion,  and  seeing  ample  room  for  the 
exercise  of  his  powers  of  ingenuity  and  contrivance, — 
he  succeeds,  perhaps,  in  effecting  some  valuable  im 
provement,  by  which  his  labors  are  facilitated,  and  his 
interests  promoted.  A  knowledge  of  these  improved 
methods  of  prosecuting  his  business — the  natural  and 
legitimate  result  of  his  love  of  novelty — cannot  but 
yield  him  a  true  and  innocent  satisfaction.  For, 
in  the  first  place,  it  is  information  derived,  not  from 
others,  but  through  the  exercise  of  his  own  ingenuity  ; 
— and  what  original  thinker  does  not  experience  a 
rich  gratification  in  discoveries  purely  his  own  ? — And, 
secondly,  his  interests  are,  by  this  means,  effectually 
advanced. 


36 


COMPOSITIONS    BY 


Instance  too  the  student. — Let  the  subject  of  his  in 
quiries  be  that  of  Astronomy.  Not  satisfied  with  pres 
ent  attainments,  he  pants  after  a  knowledge  of  princi 
ples  yet  unknown,  and  truths  still  more  sublime  than 
those  already  ascertained.  If  his  love  of  novelty,  i.  e. 
of  new  discoveries  in  this  department  of  science  be  but 
properly  controlled,  at  every  stage  in  his  progress  he 
must  find  open  to  him  a  new  source  of  pure  and  ration 
al  gratification.  Indeed  how  must  emotions  of  admira 
tion  and  delight  swell  his  bosom,  as  on  the  wings  of 
fancy,  and  in  the  clearness  of  apprehension,  he  is  borne, 
triumphantly,  through  those  etherial  regions, — 

"  Where  system  into  system  runs, 
And  other  planets  circle  other  suns." 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  37 


MONUMENTS. 

Written  in  Dec.  1832  ;    a  short  time  before  leaving  New 
Haven. 

IT  is  natural  to  man  to  desire  to  signalize,  by  visible 
memorials,  those  particular  spots  which  circumstances 
have  invested  with  a  peculiar  interest.  The  ancient 
patriarch,  having,  on  his  journey  eastward,  seen  in 
nightly  vision  the  ladder  which  reached  (o  heaven, 
could  not  but  raise  an  humble  pillar  to  mark  the  place 
where  he  had  witnessed  a  scene  so  singular  and  sub 
lime.  This,  we  say,  was  perfectly  natural.  For  man 
is  a  social  being.  When  an  individual's  feelings  centre 
in  a  particular  object,  the  very  principles  of  his  nature 
incline  him  to  wish  that  others  too  may  learn  what 
that  is  in  which  he  feels  so  deep  an  interest.  That 
which  engrosses  his  own  thoughts  and  absorbs  his  own 
attention,  he  must,  he  will  communicate  to  others.  But 
farther  : — a  man's  desires  are  not  confined  to  his  cotem- 
poraries.  He  wishes  not  his  name  to  perish  with  his 
body.  The  man,  therefore,  who  has  been  an  actor  in 
a  scene  of  extraordinary  interest,  is  desirous  that  that 
scene,  and  his  own  connexion  with  it,  may  be  known 
and  understood  in  generations  yet  to  come.  Especially 
is  this  the  case,  in  respect  to  his  own  immediate  descen 
dants.  Thus  influenced,  and  because,  we  may  add.  a 
4* 


38 


COMPOSITIONS    BY 


standing  memorial  of  the  scene  in  question  serves  to 
give  it  an  additional  interest  in  even  his  own  estima 
tion,  he  very  naturally  raises  a  monument  to  commem 
orate  the  same.  We  conclude,  therefore,  that  the  erec 
tions  of  monuments  by  individuals,  on  appropriate  oc 
casions,  is  innocent  and  proper  ;  for  it  is  a  suggestion  of 
nature  in  her  own  simplicity, — and  in  perfect  accor 
dance  with  those  principles  which  render  us  beings  of 
a  social  character.  Now  individuals  constitute  na 
tions.  The  nature  of  a  community  differs  not  in  es 
sence  from  the  nature  of  an  individual.  Hence  what 
has  been  said  already  in  respect  to  individuals,  may  be 
applied  to  communities.  The  conclusion  then  is,  that 
the  erection  of  national  monuments  also,  on  particular 
occasions,  is  proper  and  justifiable. 


The  following  lines  were  written  while  at  New  Haven  for 
his  sister  Emily  Maria ;  then  a  member  of  the  Young 
Ladies'  Institute  in  the  same  place. 

WHAT  all  men  need,  yet  most  have  not, 
Is  this — contentment  with  their  lot : — 
Both  rich  and  poor — both  high  and  low, 
Earth's  nobler  pleasures  thus  forego. 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  39 


For  where  contentment  does  not  dwell. 
The  heart  is  but  an  arid  shell. 
Of  just  the  very  meat  depriv'd, 
On  which  true  happiness  had  thriv'd. 
If  but  contentment  rule  the  breast, 
This  is  the  seat  of  peace  and  rest. 
Unmov'd  by  fortune's  every  gale, — 
By  every  ill  that  may  assail, — 
It  throbs  not  with  distracting  cares, 
And  no  dull  load  of  sorrow  bears. 
Let  but  contentment  reign — and  there 
The  sky  is  bright— the  prospect  fair. 
There  no  dark  clouds  terrific  roll, 
T'  obscure  the  sunshine  of  the  soul ; — 
No  winds,  impetuous  and  drear, 
Fall,  roaring,  on  the  troubled  ear  ; — 
But  all  above — and  all  around — 
Is  rich  in  sight,  and  sweet  in  sound. 

But  true  contentment  is  divine  ; 
And,  Emily,  may  this  be  thine. 


40  COMPOSITIONS    BY 


The  following  fragments  of  composition  are  inserted  ; 
though  evidently  left  by  the  author  in  an  unfinished 
state. 

THE    MIND. 

THE  mind  is  man's  nobler  part.  It  is  a  something 
within  him  which  thinks  and  reasons,  compares  and 
determines,  wills  and  refuses.  This  it  is  which  occa 
sions  and  regulates  all  the  motions  and  actions  of  the 
body.  It  is  its  main-spring — its  grand  controller. 
How  the  mind  is  connected  with  the  body,  so  as  (o  gov 
ern  and  control  this  grosser  part  of  man,  by  its  own 
will  and  determination,  is  more  than  philosophy  has 
ever  explained  or  genius  discovered.  But,  although 
the  veil  of  mystery  is  spread  over  much  that  relates  to 
the  mind,  our  subject,  notwithstanding,  opens  a  wide 
field  for  successful  research. 

We  propose,  in  the  first  place,  to  consider  some  of 
the  mind's  qualities  or  characteristics  ; — and,  in  the  sec 
ond  place,  to  make  such  reflections  as  the  subject  natu 
rally  suggests. 

First : — the  qualities  or  characteristics  of  the  mind. 
Immateriality  is  one  of  its  characteristics.  The  mind 
is  not  matter,  as  is  the  body.  It  is  wholly  and  purely 
spiritual.  When  the  Almighty  gave  [existence  to 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  41 

Adam,  our  great  progenitor,  he  "  breathed  into  his  nos 
trils  the  breath  of  life  ;  and  man  became  a  living  soul." 
The  mind,  then,  is  the  breath  of  God — pure  intelli 
gence.  Hence,  it  is  capable  of  original  action.  Matter 
cannot  move  until  it  is  forced  to  move.  But  the  mind 
moves  and  acts  of  itself. 

In  consequence  of  the  immateriality  of  the  mind, 
it  is  incapable  of  receiving  those  injuries  and  experienc 
ing  those  disasters  to  which  the  body  is  constantly  ex 
posed.  The  rolling  machine  may  sever  limb  from 
limb.  The  daring  villain  may  bury  his  dagger  in  the 
breast.  But  no  force  can  sever — no  sword  can  pierce 
the  immaterial  mind.  What  is  spiritual  is,  of  course, 
inseparable  and  impenetrable. 

Constant  activity  is  another  characteristic  of  the 
mind.  The  body  frequently  requires  and  takes  repose. 
It  is  wearied  and  exhausted  by  exercise.  Not  so  the 
mind.  This  is  ever  active.  When  the  body  is  active, 
no  one  can  doubt  the  operations  of  the  mind,  since  the 
very  exercise  of  the  former  depends  upon  the  volitions 
of  the  latter.  Besides,  when  the  animal  functions  are 
not  suspended,  we  are  conscious  of  thinking  continu 
ally  ;  which  shows  that  then  the  mind  is  in  ceaseless 
exercise.  True,  we  may  not,  during  our  wakeful 
hours,  be  always  thinking  of  our  thoughts,  and  con 
sequently  may  not  be  able  at  a  particular  instant  of 
corporal  activity  to  tell  what  were  our  thoughts  the  in 
stant  preceding.  But  when  the  body  is  in  action,  there 


42  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

ir  never,  undoubtedly,  a  moment  in  which  we  are  not 
sensible  of  the  occupancy  of  our  breast  by  thoughts  of 
some  kind  or  other.  What  wakeful  man,  but  always 
feels  some  idea,  some  emotion,  some  stirring  within 
him? 

The  activity  of  the  mind  during  the  hours  of  bodily 
repose  is  frequently  displayed  in  the  dreams  and  visions 
of  the  night.  These  evince  the  exercise  of  the  mind 
even  when  the  body  rests  in  the  embrace  of  sleep. 
The  fact  that  we,  upon  awaking  from  sleep,  have  no 
recollection  of  thinking  during  the  whole  season  of 
repose,  by  no  means  proves  that  the  mind  is  not  in  per 
petual  exercise,  since  we  very  frequently,  at  a  particu 
lar  period  of  our  wakeful  hours,  have  no  recollection  of 
our  thoughts  at  another  particular  period  of  them. 

But  the  nature  of  the  mind  proves  its  ceaseless  ac 
tivity.  It  is  in  essence  like  Angels  and  God  himself. 
Exercise  is,  as  it  were,  a  part  of  itself.  It  can  no  more 
cease  to  be  in  exercise  than  Cherubim  and  Seraphim. 
Whatever  moves  and  acts  of  itself  must  move  and  act 
without  ceasing.  Whenever  the  mind  ceases  to  act,  its 
power  to  act,  or  in  other  words,  its  existence  ceases 
too. 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  43 


MAN. 

THE  world  hath  much  that  man  counts  wonderful, 

Much  that  astonishes,  much  that  confounds, 

Much  baffling  all  his  skill  to  analyze, 

And  all  his  powers  to  comprehend  ; — yet  we, 

Ourselves  considering,  find  most  that  moves 

Our  wonder,  and  eludes  our  scrutiny, 

But  merits,  still,  our  study.     What  is  man  ? 

What  is  that  active  principle  within, 

Which,  immaterial,  directs  and  sways, 

As  sov'reign  lord,  the  frame  corporeal  ? 

W^hich  thinks  and  reasons,  ponders  and  compares. 

And  chooses  or  refuses  ;— ever  true 

To  seeming  interest,  and  jealous  much 

Of  seeming  harm  ?     A  principle,  confm'd, 

'Tis  true,  and  fetter'd  while  its  union  lasts 

With  man's  material,  grosser  part, — but  one 

Impatient  of  restraint,  and  apt  to  soar 

On  fancy's  wing,  almost  as  if  no  clog 

Impeded,  far  above  the  empty  scenes 

And  poor  realities  of  sense,  in  quest 

Of  some  imagin'd  good,  more  permanent 

And  pure,  than  aught  it  knows,  or  earth  affords  ; 

A  principle,  evincing  thus  its  home, 

Its  proper  home,  is  not  a  prison-house 


44 


COMPOSITIONS    BY 


Of  clay,  and  its  inheritance  no  less 
Than  that  of  immortality  itself. 
Who,  as  he  muses  on  the  soul,  endow'd 
With  powers  so  high  and  noble,  and  the  seat 
Of  aspirations  so  unbounded,  who, 
Although  the  rich  possessor,  is  not  lost 
In  contemplation         # 


HEALTH    AND    SICKNESS. 

Written  in  the  spring  of  1833,  during  the  Author's  last  sick 
ness.  After  a  vain  attempt  to  refresh  himself  by  sleep,  he 
took  pencil  and  paper  and  in  a  few  minutes  handed  the 
following  to  his  youngest  sister,  then  about  thirteen. 

SEE  Health  all  florid,  fresh,  and  fair, 
Breathing  without  the  fragrant  air  ; 
While  Sickness,  pale,  infirm,  and  thin, 
Sits  sad  and  petulant  within. 

Cloth'd  in  a  habit,  plain  and  neat, 
Health  trips  along  with  nimble  feet, — 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  45 

But  Sickness,  clad  in  loose  attire, 
Keeps,  downcast,  by  the  Nursery's  fire. 

Though  wind  and  cold  should  mark  the  day, 
Health  sings  and  whistles  it  away, — 
But  Sickness,  sheltered  from  the  sky, 
Does  still,  meanwhile,  hut  groan  and  sigh. 

When  night,  full  punctual,  comes  round, 
Health's  sleep  is  purely  sweet  and  sound, — 
While  Sickness,  with  the  choicest  care, 
Now  rolls  in  pain,  now  in  despair. 


The  following  lines  were  found  after  the  Author's  death  in 
his  pocket  book.  They  were  addressed  to  his  sister  who 
was  then  in  perfect  health,  but  whose  death  occurred  in 
seven  weeks  after  his  own.  Their  strikingly  prophetic 
character  cannot  but  be  observed. 

BORNE  on  the  sea  of  life,  your  little  bark 
Is  sailing  towards  its  farthest  shore.     The  gale 
Which  wafts  it  onward  is  the  airy  breeze 
Time's  rapid  wings  produce.     Just  now,  perhaps, 
The  sky  above  shines  bright  and  fair,  nor  shows 
The  smallest  speck  to  cloud  its  canopy. 
5 


46  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

Perhaps  the  sea  beneath,  resplendent  quite 

With  the  reflected  rays  the  sun  emits — 

The  sun  of  gay  prosperity — shows  not 

A  wave  that  damps  your  joy  or  mars  your  peace. 

Your  bark,  perhaps,  seems  tight  and  strong  and  firm, 

And  able  to  withstand  what  winds  may  rise, 

And  waves  may  roll,  at  some  far  distant  day 

'Neath  some  tempestuous  sky.     But,  Emily, 

The  sea  you  navigate  may  quite  deceive 

Th'  unwary  passenger.     Quicksands  and  shoals 

May  lurk  beneath,  when  most  it  indicates 

That  all  is  safe.     The  cloud  may  show  itself, 

To  chill  your  spirits  and  to  blight  your  hopes, 

E'en  whilst  you  dream  of  nought  save  sunny  days 

And  cloudless  skies.     The  waves  may  quickly  swell 

To  mountain  heights  to  toss  you,  terrified, 

Upon  the  restless  deep,  or  to  engulf 

You,  powerless,  beneath  the  angry  surge. 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  47 


[  Some  friends  have  expressed  the  wish  that  letters  of  this 
gifted  youth  should  be  published.  But  they  are  so  interwoven 
with  passing  events,  and  with  the  private  feelings  and  concerns 
of  those  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  that  none  of  them  are 
suitable  to  be  published  entire.  A  few  extracts,  however,  from 
letters  written  to  his  own  family  will  be  given,  from  which 
will  be  seen  his  affectionate  manner,  and  correct  style  of 
writing.  ] 


Yale  College,  Jan.  1832. 
MY  DEAR  SISTERS, 

I  received  in  due  time  your  last  family  letter.  It 
found  me  well,  as  I  still  continue.  The  news  it  con 
tained  of  my  respected  Grandfather's  and  Uncle's 
deaths,  was  of  course  unpleasant  tidings.  Although 
two  of  our  friends  were  thus  cut  down  almost  together, 
when  we  consider  how  seldom  our  relatives  have  been 
prostrated  by  death,  numerous  as  is  the  circle  they  form, 
we  surely  have  no  cause  of  complaint.  Few  circles  of 
connexions,  I  apprehend,  as  large  as  that  to  which  we 
belong,  are  thinned  less  frequently  by  the  inroads  of 
fatal  diseases  than  the  one  of  which  ourselves  constitute 
a  part.  We  should,  then,  be  thankful  that  we  and  so 


48  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

many  of  our  kindred  are  still  blessed  with  life  and 
health  and  prosperity,  while  we  drop  the  sympathetic 
tear  at  the  loss  of  our  lately  deceased  friends. 


I  am  glad  you  are  attending-  to  exercises  in  reading, 
under  the  instruction  of  one  who  probably  understands 
the  art.  Very  few  indeed  are  able  to  read  well.  I 
used  to  think  myself,  you  know,  especially  when  tak 
ing  pains,  a  tolerable  reader.  But  how  far,  how  very 
far  short  in  this  respect  do  I  come !  When  I  hear 
Professor  Goodrich  read  and  speak,  \vhy  it  seems  as  if  I 
possessed  no  command  of  my  voice  at  all.  An  ability 
to  read  with  ease,  with  fluency,  with  correctness,  with 
sonorousness,  and  with  effect  is  one  of  the  rarest,  but 
most  pleasing  and  valuable  accomplishments.  Let  it 
be  said  that  this  accomplishment  the  Misses  Barrett 
possess.  To  aid  you  in  its  acquisition  allow  me  to  give 
you  two  or  three  simple  rules  to  follow : — 

First.  Possess  yourselves  of  great  resolution  and 
patience. 

Secondly.  Be  careful  to  sound  fully  every  syllable 
and  letter,  that  admit  of  being  sounded. 

Thirdly.  Never  read  without  understanding  and 
feeling  if  possible  the  author's  meaning. 

Fourthly.    Read  much  aloud. 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  49 

Fifthly.     Be  not  satisfied  with  an  ability  to  read  as 
well  as  others. 

A  short  time  since  I  received  a  letter  from  our  cousin 

.     He  wrote  in  his  usual  interesting  manner. 

His  main  topic  was  the  importance  and  the  difficulty  of 
becoming  a  good  letter  writer.  He  remarked  that  "out 
of  his  twenty  or  more  correspondents,  many  of  whom 
were  liberally  educated,  not  more  than  two  could  write 
a  letter." 


During  the  vacation  I  attended  meeting1  at  the  town 
churches,  as  the  chapel  is  not  open  except  in  term  time. 
On  one  occasion  I  heard  Edward  Beecher,  who  hap 
pened  to  spend  a  sabbath  at  New  Haven.  He  is  in 
this  portion  of  the  country  collecting  money  for  the 
benefit  of  the  college  over  which  he  is  President.  He 
has  raised  about  17,000  dollars.  Dr  .Beecher  of  Boston, 
Edward  Beecher  his  son,  and  George  Beecher,  another 
son,  who  is  now  in  the  theological  school  here,  all 
graduated  at  Yale  College.  The  two  former  held  the 
highest  standing  in  their  classes.  The  Doctor  (as  Dea. 
Twining,  our  steward,  informed  me)  was  the  son  of  a 
blacksmith  in  this  vicinity,  and  was  accustomed  him 
self,  when  a  boy,  to  swing  the  ponderous  sledge.  He 
received  his  education  through  the  assistance  of  a  chari 
table  society. 


50 


COMPOSITIONS    BY 


Yale  College,  July  20,  1832. 
MY  DEAR  PARENTS, 

IT  gives  me  pleasure  to  lay  aside  occasionally  the 
abstruse  volume,  whose  constant  perusal  cannot  but 
weary  and  tire  such  beings  as  ourselves,  so  fond  of 
novelty  and  change,  and  with  minds  so  frequently 
needing  relaxation  and  rest, — and  think  upon  home, 
'•  that  word  of  nameless  charms,'  where  are  my  dearest 
friends,  and  such  friends  as  I  never  expect  to  find  else 
where  on  earth.  But  as  I  think  of  home  I  am  admon 
ished  that  something1  more  is  due  than  merely  thinking 
of  it.  I  therefore  seat  myself  to  do  something  that 
will  demonstrate  that  I  do  bear  you  in  grateful  re 
membrance. 

My  health  is  very  good.  There  are  very  few  in 
College,  1  apprehend,  who  are  uniformly  as  well  as 
myself.  Quite  a  number  of  my  class  have  already  left 
College  on  account  of  ill  health.  One,  you  know, 
there  was  in  my  class  from  New  Hampshire  beside 
myself.  He  has  gone  on  this  account.  Some  of  these, 
however,  may  by  and  by  return.  My  own  state  of 
health  is  certainly  reason  for  gratitude. 

My  hours  are  generally  occupied,  profitably  I  trust. 
But  I  think  my  college  studies  are  not  as  hard  the 
present  term  as  they  were  the  preceding  terms.  Euclid 
is  a  delightful  study. 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  51 

It  is  no  small  gratification  to  me  that  sister  Emily  is 
here.  We  see  each  other  about  every  other  day.  I 
hope  you  will  never  regret  her  coming,  or  my  coming 
to  this  place : — i.  e.,  I  hope  we  shall  make  such  im 
provement  of  our  privileges  here  as  will  recompense 
you  abundantly  for  all  your  expense  and  solicitude  on 
our  account. 

We  attended,  a  few  weeks  since,  the  ordination  of 
Mr.  Stevens,  missionary  to  China.  He  went  away 
very  cheerfully.  Said  he,  "  do  I  regret  my  determining 
to  go  ?  Not  at  all,  not  at  all." 

The  minister  of  East  Haven,  who  gave  him  the  hand 
of  fellowship,  in  so  doing  told  a  story.  It  was  this. 
"  I  saw  to  day  a  poor  old  widow.  Said  she,  my  hus 
band  was  a  seaman,  and  many  a  year  since  he  died. 
My  sons  are  seamen.  I  know  the  wants  of  seamen. 
(Mr.  S.  you  know  goes  as  chaplain  to  American  sea 
men  in  Canton.)  Here  is  a  chain  of  gold  beads,  given 
me  by  one  with  whom  I  expected,  when  young,  to  be 
united  in  marriage  ;  but  he  was  taken  from  the  world 
by  death.  I  have  nothing  more  to  give.  This  I 
snatch  from  my  neck,  and  consecrate,  as  Mr.  Judson 
advised,  to  the  cause  of  Christ.  Give  it,  i.  e.  its  value 
in  something  useful,  to  poor  seamen,  who  need  moral 
instruction  more  than  I  golden  ornaments.  And,  my 
brother,  I  shall  give  it  to  you,  ere  this  day  closes  ;  and 
may  others  go  and  do  likewise." 

Mr.  Patton  (from  New  York  city,)  who  preached  Mr. 
Stevens'  ordination  sermon,  compared  the  American 


52  COMPOSITIONS    BY 

Seaman's  Friend  Society,  to  "a  chain  let  down  from 
heaven  to  get  a  sailor's  hitch  upon  the  earth,  and 
drag  it  up."  A  smile,  I  assure  you,  was  excited  from 
even  the  gravest  hearers.  Several  hundreds  of  dollars 
were  collected  for  seamen. 

About  the  same  time  Mr.  Patton  made  an  extempo 
raneous  address  hefore  the  bible  society  of  College. 
He  closed  very  beautifully.  The  resolution  he  was 
speaking  on  was  that  the  money  of  the  society  be 
this  year  appropriated,  in  full,  to  the  Chinese  people. 
Comparing  our  bible  societies,  i.  e.  the  American,  to 
to  the  eagle,  (the  bird  upon  our  national  flag,)  he  said, 
"  the  eagle  has  been,  and  still  is,  so  confined  by  a  cord 
tied  round  his  leg,  that  his  flight  is  restricted  and  his 
majesty  impaired.  Some  time  ago,  his  liberty  was  not 
as  great  as  at  present.  By  and  by,  by  exertion  on  the 
part  of  those  wbo  regretted  his  confinement,  the  cord 
was  lengthened,  and  the  noble  bird  flew  with  dignity 
over  a  whole  court ty.  Now  throbbed  many  a  heart 
with  joy,  and  sang  many  a  mouth  with  thankfulness. 
Anon  the  cord  was  lengthened  still  more,  and  a  whole 
state  was  embraced  within  the  circle  of  his  flight. 
Now  many  an  eye  dropped  tears  of  joy,  and  many  a 
breast  was  big  with  emotion.  But  at  last,  (he  alluded, 
you  sec,  to  the  progress  that  marked  the  supplying  of 
our  own  country  with  bibles)  at  last  he  was  permitted 
to  soar  on  majestic  pinions  over  the  whole  of  this  wide 
spread  land.  Now  every  benevolent  heart  rejoices  that 
the  bird  possesses  a  liberty  so  great — a  cord  so  long. 
But  shall  we  lengthen  that  cord  no  more  ?  Shall  we 


JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  53 

be  satisfied  now  ?  /  say,  for  one,  now  let  us  cut  that 
cord,  and  let  the  noble  bird  fly  in  majesty  and  triumph 
over  the  whole  of  this  wide  world.  But,  my  friends — 
it  takes  a  gold  or  silver  knife  to  cut  it" 


Yale  College,  Nov.  7,  1832. 

MY    DEAR    SISTER    EMILY, 

I  WISH  I  could  find  time  to  write  you  a  long  and  in 
teresting  letter.  But  I  cannot;  for  my  time  is  exceeding 
ly  occupied.  Some  parts  of  last  year,  I  thought,  were 
very  well  filled  up  with  labors,  but  they  cannot  be  com 
pared,  in  this  respect,  with  the  present  term.  A  few  days 
since,  our  mathematical  lesson  embraced  a  point  of  great 
difficulty.  The  author  asserted  a  thing  which  was  left 
for  the  learner  to  prove.  The  same  thing  has  always 
been  very  troublesome  to  classes  before  us.  I  was  to  re 
cite  the  lesson  containing  it  in  the  morning.  Mr. * 

and  myself  commenced  our  task  about  six  in  the  even 
ing  anterior.  With  little  respite  from  study,  we  labor 
ed  until  two,  then  slept  an  hour,  then  worked  till  the 
recitation  hour,  but  all  in  vain.  On  going  to  the  recita 
tion  room  we  found  it  locked,  and  ourselves  denied  ad- 

*  The  writer's  chum. 


54  COMPOSITIONS    BY    J.    A.    BARRETT. 

mission.  Some  one  who  was  unable  to  get  the  lesson, 
and  wished  not  to  fail  upon  it,  had  fastened  the  door 
in  the  night.  Our  tutor,  however,  being  a  strong 
man,  knocked  in  the  door,  and  compelled  a  recitation. 
Many  failed  on  the  point  of  difficulty  entirely,  and  I 
presume  no  one  had  it  correctly  solved.  I  was  so  fortu 
nate  as  not  to  be  called  upon.  Otherwise  I  should,  for 

once,  have  been  obliged  to  fail.     Mr. has  since 

studied  on  this  one  point  about  twelve  hours,  and  un 
successfully :  myself  about  six,  and  I  gained  the  victo 
ry.  Thus  you  can  form  some  idea  of  what  we  have 
to  do,  and  the  degree  of  diligence  necessary. 

I  received  your  affectionate  letter  in  due  time,  and 
thank  you  for  it.  I  would  also  acknowledge  the  re 
ceipt  of  one,  a  few  days  previous,  from  my  mother.  I 
wish  such  favors  were  ten  times  as  frequent.  And 
sure  I  am  if  you  knew  how  much  pleasure  every  such 
favor  sends  through  my  bosom,  a  great  part  of  the 
time  necessarily  the  seat  of  rigid,  studious  thought,  and 
how  much  actual  good  the  consequent  relaxation  does 
me  ;  sure  1  am  your  attentions  of  this  description  would 
be  oftener  repeated. 


OBITUARY  NOTICE, 


FIRST      PUBLISHED 


IN      THE 


RELIGIOUS      INTELLIGENCER, 
JUNE  8,   1833. 


WRITTEN    BY    A    CLASSMATE. 


OBITUARY. 


DIED  of  consumption,  at  his  father's  house  in  New 
Ipswich,  N.  H.,  on  the  20th  of  April,  Mr.  JOSEPH  A. 
BARRETT,  only  son  of  Joseph  Barrett,  Esq.  The  de 
ceased  was  a  member  of  the  present  Sophomore  class 
in  Yale  College  ;  and  during  his  connextion  with  the 
institution,  his  unrivalled  reputation  as  a  scholar,  his 
penetrating  and  comprehensive  mind,  and  his  peculiarly 
modest  and  retiring  disposition,  secured  the  respect,  es 
teem  and  affection  of  all  his  associates.  And  when 
the  ravages  of  disease  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  re 
tire  from  pursuits  so  congenial  to  his  feelings,  from  the 
distinguished  station  of  which  lie  was  so  eminently 
worthy,  and  from  a  society  of  which  he  was  justly  es 
teemed  the  brightest  ornament  ;  the  religion  of  Jesus, 
as  we  trust,  enabled  him  to  acquiesce,  and  with  pa 
tience  to  endure  his  protracted  illness,  till  he  finally 
died  in  the  peace  of  the  gospel.  If  the  affection  and 
desires  of  those  with  whom  he  was  associated  could 
have  availed,  his  stay  would  have  been  longer :  but 
Infinite  Wisdom  only  knows,  and  Eternity  alone  will 
6 


58 


OBITUARY 


reveal  the  reasons  why  one  was  removed  whose  pros 
pects  of  extensive  usefulness  were  so  promising.  The 
Lord's  ways  are  often  mysterious  ;  but,  though  friends 
are  bereaved,  and  society  is  deprived  of  those  who  bid 
fair  to  be  its  most  distinguished  benefactors,  He  is  still 
the  source  of  consolation,  and  his  language  is,  "  What 
I  do  thou  knowest  not  now,  but  thou  slialt  know  here 
after." 

"  I  heard  a  voice 


That  says  the  dead  are  blessed,  if  they  die 

In  him  who  died  for  them.     That  whoso  lives 

Believing  shall  not  die  eternally — 

That  though  we  he  cut  down  even  as  the  flowers, 

Arid  though  we  flee  like  passing  shadows  by, 

Hereafter  we  may  bloom  again — and  stand 

Where  all  that  blooms  shall  bloom  eternally. 

And  shadows,  like  the  bitter  thoughts  of  life. 

Can  never  flit  across  the  holy  path, 

Nor  darken  one  forgiving  smile  of  Heaven." 


THE     FIRES     OF     AFFLICTION. 


SERMON, 

DELIVERED    AT    NEW-IPSWICH,    N.    H. 
MAY  5,  1833. 

OCCASIONED        BY       THE         DEATH       OF 

JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT, 

MEMBER      OF      YALE      COLLEGE,      AND      ONLY      SON      OF 
JOSEPH     BARRETT,     ESQ. 

WHO     DIED     APRIL    20,    1833, 

AGED    20    YEARS. 


BY  CHARLES  WALKER,  A.  M. 

PASTOR    OP    THE    CONGREGATIONAL    CHURCH    IN    NE  W-IPSWICH. . 


SERMON. 


ISAIAH  xxiv.   15. 
"  Wherefore  glorify  ye  the  Lord  in  the  fires" 

1  SHALL  not  stop  to  explain  the  text  nor  examine 
very  minutely  its  connexion  with  the  context.  It  must 
suffice  that  it  was  suggested  by  a  mourning  friend,  and 
that  it  appears  to  he  an  exhortation  of  the  inspired 
prophet  to  glorify  God  in  affliction  :  for  "  the  fires" 
appear,  most  naturally,  to  designate  afflictions  :  and 
many  such  "fires"  have  been  kindled  up  amongst  us 
of  late.  I  see  two  families  whose  habiliments  of  mourn 
ing  were  put  on  during  last  week.  But  there  was 
another  memorable  week.  One  only  had  intervened 
between  that  and  the  last.  ]t  had  hardly  opened  upon 
us  ere  we  heard  the  dying  groans  of  an  aged  revolu 
tionary  soldier.  He  had  been  in  deaths  oft.  in  the  land 
and  naval  service  of  his  country;  but  was  never  strictly 
conquered  till  he  surrendered  to  the  king  of  terrors. 

Again  in  the  midst  of  the  week  we  were  called  to 
attend  the  funeral  obsequies  of  one  who  fell  in  the 
6* 


D4  SERMON    ON    THE    DEATH 

meridian  of  life.  Her  sun  went  down  in  darkness,  in 
one  respect ;  for  her  senses  were  benumbed,  and  her 
tongue  palsied.  Ah  !  what  could  she  have  done,  had 
her  work  for  eternity  been  left  till  then  ! 

But  this  was  not  all.  Just  as  the  shades  of  the  week 
were  gathering  around  us,  and  shutting  it  in,  a  beloved 
youth  gently  breathed  his  last. 

Thus,  in  the  course  of  a  single  week,  a  solemn  warn 
ing  has  been  held  out  to  the  aged,  the  middle  aged  and 
the  young.  Can  those  of  any  age  amongst  us  look  at 
that  brief  week  and  feel  themselves  safe  from  the  in 
roads  of  disease,  and  the  attacks  of  death  ?  Go  to  that 
Saturday  evening  scene  !  Methinks  I  can  never  lose 
the  impression  of  it  myself — much  less  can  the  parents 
and  the  sisters.  See  the  youth,  emaciated  and  feeble 
indeed,  but  sitting  in  his  sick  chair.  Darkness  comes 
suddenly  over  him.  He  is  hurried  to  his  bed — and 
there,  with  scarce  a  groan  or  struggle,  breathes  out  his 
life.  What,  a  posture  too  for  a  dying  man  !  Resting 
upon  his  side,  like  one  going  to  sleep  !  How  quietly 
did  he  enter  upon  an  eternal  Sabbath  !  But  hush  ! 
we  must  check  ourselves,  lest  we  get  into  the  midst  of 
things  before  we  are  prepared. 

Our  text,  1  said,  is  an  exhortation  to  glorify  God  in 
afflictions.  And  are  we  not  all  afflicted?  Ts  not  the 
community  at  large  afflicted,  in  the  death  of  that  youth, 
who  has  recently  fallen  amongst  us  ?  Not,  indeed,  as 
the  parents  and  sisters  ;  but  do  we  not  all  participate 
in  this  mournful  providence,  more  than  in  ordinary 
cases  ? 


OF    JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  63 

In  what  respects,  however,  does  the  death  of  young 
Barrett  bring  the  community,  as  well  as  the  friends  and 
relatives,  into  the  fires  of  affliction  ;  and  how  shall  we 
all  glorify  the  Lord  in  them  ?  These  questions  will 
form  the  clue  to  guide  our  reflections  in  the  ensuing 
discourse. 

I.  In  what  respects  is  this  providence  an  afflic 
tive  event  to  the  community,  as  well  as  to  the  par 
ticular  friends  and  relatives  ? 

I  answer,  because  by  it  they  have  lost  a  young  man 
of  promise.  And  is  not  this  an  affliction  ?  And  will  it 
not  be  felt  by  all  who  value  the  varied  interests  of  so 
ciety,  and  who  saw  his  rising  worth  ?  You  know,  my 
hearers,  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  giving  characters.  It 
is  a  delicate  thing  to  touch  the  character,  even  of  the 
dead.  But  when  rare  excellence  is  universally  ac 
knowledged,  it  is  but  justice  to  departed  worth,  to  recall 
its  virtues  ;  not  for  display,  but  lo  embalm  them  in  our 
memories,  and  copy  them  in  our  life.  It  would  be 
alike  repugnant  to  the  feelings  of  the  bereaved  family, 
and  my  own  sense  of  duty,  to  dwell  upon  the  character 
of  the  deceased  in  the  strain  of  eulogy.  1  would  hold 
it  up  purely  to  be  useful  to  survivors  ;  and  in  those  atti 
tudes  which  may  have  the  happiest  moral  influence. 
His  was  not  a  perfect  character,  and  none  were  more 
sensible  of  it  than  himself. 

I  said  that  he  was  a  youth  of  unusual  promise.  But 
what  gave  this  promise  ?  It  was  given,  I  answer,  in  the 
unfolding  of  his  mental,  social  and  religious  character. 
There  was  a  certain  precosity  in  his  genius :  a  develop- 


(54  SERMON    ON    THE    DEATH 

ment  of  intellect,  far  beyond  his  years.  Even  when  a 
child  the  discerning  eye  naturally  cast  forward  a  pro 
spective  glance,  and  anticipated  his  future  eminence. 
His  early  habits  of  reading  were  very  observable.  In 
a  memorandum  of  his,  which  the  family  kindly  per 
mitted  me  to  peruse,  he  speaks  of  reading  the  Bible  the 
third  time  in  course.  At  this  time,  as  it  appears  by 
the  date  of  the  memorandum,  he  was  between  eight  and 
nine  years  old.  About  the  same  time  he  wrote  several 
sermons  as  he  called  them.  It  was  a  season  of  more 
than  usual  religious  interest  in  the  place  where  his 
parents  then  resided  ;  and,  in  consequence,  probably,  of 
hearing  sermons,  he  said  to  his  mother  one  day,  that 
he  thought  he  could  write  a  sermon.  She  encouraged 
him  to  try ;  and  since  his  death,  his  attempts  at  ser 
monizing  were  found  among  his  papers.  On  the  text 
in  1  Pet.  iv.  3,  4.  "  For  the  time  past  of  our  life  may 
suffice  us,  to  have  wrought  the  will  of  the  Gentiles, 
when  we  walked  in  lasciviousness,"  &c.  he  writes 
thus :  "  Sin,  that  accursed  thing  sin,  was  the  occasion 
of  our  Savior's  death  ;  and  he  died  not  only  to  save  us 
from  guilt  that  we  might  not  be  condemned,  but  to 
save  us  also  from  its  power,  that  it  might  not  rule  over 
us.  This  double  benefit  of  the  Redeemer's  death,  was 
signified  by  the  water  and  the  blood  wrhich  issued  from 
his  pierced  side ;  for  St.  John  says,  1  John  v.  6 — 
'This  is  he  that  came  by  water  and  blood:'  by  the  blood 
we  are  justified  from  the  guilt  of  sin  ;  by  the  water  our 
polluted  nature  is  purified."  So  on  the  text  respecting 
the  rich  man  and  the  beggar,  he  has  this  language : 


OF    JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  65 

"  In  old  times,  rny  friends,  there  was  a  certain  beggar 
whose  name  was  Lazarus ;  arid  there  was  a  certain 
rich  man  whose  name  was  Dives  ;  who  fared  sumptu 
ously  every  day;  but  Dives  was  wicked,  and  Lazarus 
was  good  ;  and  Lazarus  did  eat  of  the  crumbs  which 
fell  from  the  rich  man's  table ;  and  Dives  received  his 
good  things  in  his  life  time,  and  Lazarus  in  his  life 
time  evil  things."  In  another  place  he  says,  "God 
calls  upon  you  to  accept  of  him  ;  he  calls  by  a  great 
many  ways,  but  death  is  the  loudest  call." 

Now  the  fact  stated  respecting  his  reading  before  he 
was  nine,  and  the^e  specimens  of  his  composition  at 
the  same  period,  clearly  indicate  a  remarkable  vigor,  for 
that  early  age.  In  the  first  of  these  extracts,  especially, 
you  discover  a  reach  of  thought,  altogether  uncommon 
in  such  a  child.  Nor  was  this  a  mere  momentary 
flashing  of  genius  ;  like  the  comet  that  blazes,  with 
fiery  redness,  for  a  short  time,  and  then  disappears. 
His  mind  continued  to  open  with  all  the  richness  and 
ardor  of  this  early  promise.  Many  of  you  remember 
how  creditably  he  demeaned  himself  as  a  member  of 
the  district  and  sabbath  school :  and  especially  the 
maturity  of  mind  he  displayed  in  the  Bible  class,  and 
academy  :  and  the  manliness  and  ability  with  which 
he  instructed  in  common  schools  ;  and,  for  a  short  time 
in  the  academy.  While  at  the  academy  in  Amherst, 
(Ms.)  he  stood  preeminent  as  a  scholar.  Soon  after 
entering  Yale  College,  in  the  autumn  of  1831,  it  was 
seen  that  he  was  destined  to  occupy  high  ground  in 
that  distinguished  seminary  ;  and  when  compelled  by 


66  SERMON    ON    THE    DEATH 

feeble  health  to  leave  it,  and  seek  the  retreat  of  his 
father's  house,  he  left  it  as  the  most  distinguished  in 
his  class. 

With  a  memory  that  held  thoughts  rather  than 
words,  he  displayed  great  maturity  of  judgment.  His 
powers  of  investigation  and  analysis  were  of  a  high 
order.  The  mere  outside  and  surface  of  things  never 
satisfied  him.  His  views  were  fundamental,  and  his 
mind  mastered  whatever  it  touched.  His  taste,  as  a 
scholar,  was  peculiarly  delicate,  and  he  had  a  keen 
relish  for  the  beauties  of  fine  writing.  His  imagination 
was  brilliant,  and  fervid  ;  and  although  there  was  a  sort 
of  cautious  moderation  which  went  into  the  whole  of 
his  intellectual  character,  yet  his  mind  would  dart, 
occasionally,  like  lightning,  over  the  regions  of  fancy, 
culling  thence  their  richest  fruits.  These  mental  char 
acteristics  were  displayed,  especially,  in  his  successful 
study  of  language  and  the  mathematics ;  and  in  his 
compositions.  His  prose  compositions  are  marked  by 
great  perspicuity,  simplicity  and  nerve.  His  occasional 
poetic  effusions,  one  of  which  will  be  sung  at  the  close 
of  the  service,  exhibit  a  chaste  and  glowing  fancy. 
Thus  I  might  proceed  to  speak  of  the  powers  and  the 
furniture  of  this  young  mind  ;  but  I  forbear,  since  other 
parts  of  his  character  demand  attention. 

We  all  know  the  unaffected  modesty  and  simplicity  of 
his  manners.  His  mind  seemed  to  be  cast  in  the  most 
delicate  mould.  The  sweetness  of  his  disposition,  and 
the  generous  ardor  of  his  feelings,  seemed  to  entwine 
themselves  with  every  ligament  of  his  soul.  His  spirit 


OF    JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  67 

recoiled  at  the  voice  of  adulation.  His  uncommon  diffi 
dence  and  reserve,  however,  could  not  conceal  the  supe 
rior  excellencies  of  his  character.  The  veil  was  too 
transparent  to  hide  such  glowing  worth.  A  sensibility, 
delicate  almost  to  excess,  formed  one  of  the  strongest 
features  of  his  character.  Of  course  he  was  eminently 
fitted  for  the  delights  of  ardent  and  generous  friendship. 
Whatever  interest  is  awakened,  however,  in  contem 
plating  the  intellectual  character  of  this  youth,  and  his 
native  amiableness  and  modesty  :  yet  what  appertains 
to  his  religions  views  and  feelings  is  far  more  impor 
tant.  His  general  behavior  when  a  child,  and  the 
early  specimens  of  his  composition  already  quoted, 
clearly  indicate  a  mind  seriously  disposed  at  a  very 
early  age.  As  a  specimen  of  his  acquaintance  with 
the  bible,  you  noticed  his  familiarity  with  the  story  of 
Dives  and  Lazarus — telling  it  in  his  own  language, 
and  with  great  correctness.  Undoubtedly  he  had  seri 
ous  impressions  at  the  age  of  eight  or  nine,  or  earlier. 
But  there  was  no  very  distinct  and  palpable  develop 
ment  of  a  decisive  religious  influence  upon  his  character 
till  1831.  The  influence  of  the  Spirit,  shed  down  here 
and  elsewhere  during  that  memorable  season,  and  the 
interest  manifested  by  some  of  his  friends,  awakened 
his  own  mind  to  deep  heart-searchings  and  anxious 
solicitude.  At  this  time  he  had  remarkably  clear  and 
discriminating  views  of  sin.  Indeed  this  was  the  prin 
cipal  theme  on  which  he  conversed  freely.  The  meth 
od  of  salvation  through  a  crucified  Redeemer,  he  indeed 
apprehended  clearly ;  but  professed  no  special  interest 


68  SERMON    ON    THE    DEATH 

in  the  atonement.  He  appeared  thoroughly  convinced 
that  he  was  a  lost  sinner  ;  but  dared  entertain  no  hope 
that  he  had  accepted  the  provisions  of  the  gospel. 
Much  solicitude  was  felt  for  him  on  his  entering  college 
in  this  apparently  critical  state  of  mind  :  a  solicitude  for 
which  he  afterwards,  with  much  feeling,  expressed  his 
gratitude;  while  he  spoke,  with  deep  abhorrence,  of  that 
unhallowed  ambition  which  he  witnessed,  and  to  which 
he  felt  himself  exposed.  But  he  seemed,  in  a  good 
measure,  to  escape  the  snare.  He  pursued  his  studies, 
indeed,  with  ceaseless  diligence,  and  doubtless  his  ardor 
led  him  to  prosecute  them,  in  some  instances,  under 
circumstances  very  unfavorable  to  his  health.  But 
the  motives  of  ordinary  ambition  did  not  appear  to  have 
much  influence  upon  him.  However  successful  his 
intellectual  efforts,  they  did  not  satisfy  him.  Hence 
the  smile  of  self-complacency  was  never  seen  playing 
upon  his  countenance.  An  unconquerable,  ever-grow 
ing  attachment  to  the  pursuits  of  knowledge,  furnished 
a  strong  impulse  :  but,  as  his  mind  became  established 
in  the  hopes  of  the  gospel,  his  religion  furnished  a  far 
nobler  and  more  efficient  motive.  In  consequence  of 
the  extreme  caution  with  which  he  expressed  himself, 
whenever  inquiries  were  made  respecting  the  exercises 
of  his  mind,  it  is  difficult  to  decide  when  it  became  per 
manently  established  in  the  sustaining  hopes  of  the  gos 
pel.  During  the  last  autumn,  however,  something  more 
marked  and  distinctive  appeared  than  ever  before  :  and 
in  the  first  interview,  after  his  return  from  college,  he 
expressed  to  me  hopes  and  joys  such  as  he  never  had 


OP    JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  69 

previously.  While  his  views  and  feelings,  in  respect  to 
himself  as  a  sinner,  were  more  radical  than  ever,  he 
seemed  to  find  relief  in  Christ.  He  once  remarked, 
with  great  earnestness,  that  Christ,  as  the  aton ing- 
sacrifice,  was  the  most  prominent  subject  of  his  con 
templation  :  and,  indeed,  there  \vas  no  theme  to  which 
he  listened  with  more  eagerness  and  delight.  In  short, 
during  his  whole  sickness,  he  manifested  an  uncommon 
relish  for  Bible  truth.  Severe  as  was  the  trial  to  be 
taken  off  from  his  favorite  and  successful  studies,  he 
submitted  with  patience.  Although,  in  the  early  part 
of  his  sickness  especially,  he  was  evidently  anxious  to 
recover,  yet  he  seemed  to  settle  down  into  that  quiet 
and  submissive  spirit,  implied  in  our  Lord's  language  : 
"  Not  my  will  but  thine  be  done."  The  energies  of 
his  mind,  and  his  extreme  sensibility,  rendered  it  some 
times  hazardous  to  converse  with  him.  He  could  not 
let  these  energies  lie  dormant  in  the  company  of  a 
friend  ;  and  the  attempt  to  summon  them  up,  would 
seem,  sometimes,  to  prostrate  his  physical  powers,  and 
threaten  the  demolition  of  the  delicate  frame-work  of 
the  soul.  And  it  is  now  demolished.  Yes,  that  youth 
ful  frame  lies  low  in  the  dust ! 

A  mere  sketch  has  been  given,  as  you  see,  my 
hearers,  of  some  of  the  more  prominent  traits  of  young 
Barrett's  character.  To  fill  up  the  outlines,  and  com 
plete  the  picture,  would  not  comport  with  the  design  of 
this  discourse.  That  will  be  done  by  those  of  you  who 
knew  him.  But  enough  has  been  said,  I  trust,  to  war 
rant  the  declaration  made  in  the  outset,  namely,  that  his 
7 


SERMON    ON    THE    DEATH 

death  is  a  public  calamity.  It  is  an  event,  which  has 
not  only  brought  the  family  into  the  fires  of  affliction, 
but,  in  a  measure,  the  community  generally  :  and  how 
shall  we  all  glorify  the  Lord  in  them  ?  This  is  our 
II.  General  inquiry :  and  here,  instead  of  spread 
ing  out  my  remarks  indiscriminately  upon  the  whole 
assembly,  permit  me  to  invite  the  attention  of  specific 
classes  to  those  methods  of  glorifying  God  which  this 
event  especially  lays  open  to  them.  And  of  these  I 
would  name 

Those  who  can  appreciate  intellectual  worth. 
There  are  those,  in  every  community,  who,  although 
they  may  not  have  had  the  advantages  of  a  public  edu 
cation,  or  opportunities  for  traversing  to  much  extent 
the  scholars  ground,  yet  have  discernment  to  discover, 
taste  and  judgment  to  appreciate,  and  public  spirit  to 
patronize  talents  and  mental  endowments:  especially 
when  they  come  out,  as  they  usually  do  when  of  the 
first  order,  enshrined  in  the  beautiful  casement  of  mod 
esty  and  diffidence.  Now  this  class  of  ray  hearers — 
those  of  them  at  least  who  knew  the  deceased,  will  feel 
his  death  as  a  calamity  that  has  robbed  the  community 
of  a  rising  member.  You  had  watched  his  progress 
with  interest,  and  felt  an  honest  pride  that  a  fellow- 
townsman  should  so  early  develope  powers  of  such 
maturity  and  vigor.  Of  course  your  anticipations  were 
raised.  You  saw  him,  in  imagination,  pass  successfully 
through  his  studies  ;  and  in  public  life  gathering  an 
influence  around  him,  gratifying  to  your  benevolence 
and  philanthropy.  But  an  unseen  hand  has  taken 


OP    JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT. 


71 


him  off.  Now  you  should  notice  that  hand  ;  and  re 
member  that  the  lightning  of  heaven,  which  shivers 
the  sturdy  oak,  may  smite  the  thrifty  sapling  by  its 
side.  God  is  the  author  of  intellect.  He  gives  mind 
and  controls  and  regulates  its  operations.  He  raises 
around  it  the  clayey  tenement ;  and  he  levels  that 
tenement  with  the  dust,  even  sometimes  amidst  the 
germs  of  intellect.  Check,  then,  the  fond  anticipations 
respecting  those  who  promise  much.  It  may  be  the 
fruit  is  ripening  to  kill  the  tree.  The  mind  cannot 
operate,  with  great  intensity  and  vigor,  and  continue 
the  effort  for  any  great  length  of  time  with  safety  to 
the  corporeal  powers,  until  those  powers  are,  to  a  con 
siderable  extent,  developed  and  matured.  But,  in 
ordinary  cases,  there  is  little  danger  from  this  source  : 
there  may  be  cases,  however,  and  there  doubtless  have 
been,  in  which  a  premature  development  of  mental 
power  has  impaired  the  physical  system.  Such  an 
unusual  opening  of  the  mind,  then,  may  not,  on  the 
whole,  be  so  desirable  as  at  first  view  it  appears.  But 
intellect  never  should  be  idolized,  at  whatever  period  of 
life,  or  under  whatever  circumstances,  the  disclosure  be 
made.  It  is  wicked.  God  is  to  be  worshipped  ;  and  he 
has  declared  that  he  will  have  no  other  gods  before  him. 
Venerate  the  power  that  can,  in  a  moment,  blast  the 
fairest  prospects,  and  make  a  wreck  of  the  mightiest 
intellect  at  a  stroke.  Bow  not  down  and  worship  so 
brittle  an  image,  though  it  be  made  of  the  richest 
materials.  They  are  still  earthly.  Foster  not  the 
pride  of  talent.  It  is  a  baneful  spirit.  Value  intel- 


72  SERMON    ON    THE    DEATH 

lectual  resources,  whether  native  or  acquired,  purely  as 
means  of  usefulness.  In  the  hands  of  unbridled  pas 
sions  they  are  terrible  instruments,  used  to  scourge 
mankind.  While,  then,  you  admire  these  gifts,  let 
your  ultimate  homage  be  paid  to  the  Giver — the  Infi 
nite  Mind  himself. 

Another  class,  whom  this  Providence  particularly 
addresses,  are  christians ;  and  they,  surely,  will  glorify 
the  Lord  in  this  fire.  The  departed  youth  had  not, 
indeed,  publicly  allied  himself  with  the  people  of  God  : 
but  he  was  with  them  in  heart ;  and,  when  asked 
whether,  in  case  he  recovered,  he  should  make  a  pro 
fession  of  religion  :  "  most  certainly,"  he  replied,  "  if  I 
thought  myself  prepared."  Let,  no  one,  then,  who  in 
dulges  a  hope  that  he  is  a  Christian,  fancy  he  has  the 
example  of  this  youth  to  warrant  him  in  neglecting  to 
come  out  from  the  world  and  be  separate.  It  was  only 
a  short  time  previous  to  his  last  sickness  that  his  mind 
became  fully  established  in  the  hopes  of  the  gospel : 
and,  in  his  circumstances  afterwards,  there  was  no  con 
venient  opportunity  of  publicly  confessing  Christ.  But, 
although  he  did  not  belong  to  the  church  militant,  we 
trust  he  has  joined  the  church  triumphant.  Yet  how 
inscrutable  are  the  ways  of  God  !  At  the  very  time 
when  his  prospects  appeared  the  brightest,  he  was 
snatched  away.  Had  he  lived,  he  probably  would 
have  entered  upon  the  gospel  ministry.  To  this  he 
looked  forward,  with  special  interest,  after  light  broke  in 
more  fully  upon  his  mind  :  and  it  would  seem  as 
though,  had  he  been  permitted  to  qualify  himself  for 


OF    JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT. 


73 


that  office,  he  would  have  been  eminently  useful.  But 
he  has  gone.  With  the  treasures  of  his  mind,  and  the 
amiable  qualities  of  his  heart  alone,  he  would  have 
gained  our  affectionate  regard  ;  but  in  that  case,  as  we 
"  trod  lightly  on  his  ashes,1'  we  could  only  have  ex 
claimed  All  is  lost  !  But  all  is  not  lost  now.  No,  an 
eternal  weight  of  glory,  we  trust,  is  gained.  Adore 
where  you  cannot  fathom,  my  Christian  friends,  and  re 
member  that  the  fewer  the  talents  spared  to  the  cause 
of  Christ,  the  more  sedulously  should  they  be  employed 
to  promote  his  interests  ;  and  the  more  uniformly  come 
under  a  hallowed  influence.  As  faithful  stewards, 
make  whatever  is  entrusted  to  you  available  to  the  ad 
vancement  of  the  Redeemer's  kingdom  ;  whether 
it  be  one  talent  or  ten.  Adore  the  hand  that  be 
stows  gospel  grace  upon  gifted  minds  ;  and  adore  the 
same  hand,  too,  which  blasts  those  gifts.  Grace  can 
not  be  blasted.  It  rises,  as  intellect  foils,  and  gathers 
immortal  bliss  around  the  soul,  as  it  stretches  its  undy 
ing  powers,  in  ceaseless  vigor,  through  the  realms  of 
light. 

The  young  men  in  this  place,  as  well  as  the  fellow- 
students  of  the  deceased  elsewhere,  stand  ready,  I 
doubt  not,  to  shed  a  tear  upon  the  early  grave  of  their 
beloved  companion.  These  are  another  class  who  are 
very  particularly  called  upon  to  glorify  the  Lord  in  view 
of  tins  event.  And  how  can  tbey  do  it  ?  In  no  other 
way,  surely,  than  by  letting  this  Providence  exert  its 
legitimate  effect.  You  now  rejoice  in  your  strength 
and  vigor;  and  as  you  cast  your  eye  into  the  future,  the 

7* 


74 


SERMON    ON    THE    DEATH 


gay  visions  of  hope  and  anticipation  rise  up  before  you. 
But  they  are  visions  merely.  The  fields  on  which 
your  imaginations  rove,  will  never  bloom  in  the  fresh 
ness  and  verdure,  which  you  anticipate.  If  the  scenes  on 
which  your  expectations  and  hopes  nowrest,with  the  most, 
cheering  prospects,  come,  they  will  come  divested  of  those 
attractions,  which  fancy  now  throws  around  them.  Your 
sun  may  rise  bright,  and  your  morning  be  cloudless,  and 
ere  noon-day  the  sky  be  overcast.  Boast  not  then  of  your 
strength.  Are  your  sinews  iron,  and  is  your  flesh 
brass  ?  What  if  there  be  symmetry  of  form,  and  ^the 
glow  of  health  upon  your  cheek  ?  Go  to  that  turf  still 
green  and  fresh  !  Go,  see  that  lovely  form,  so  lately 
glowing  with  all  the  freshness  of  youthful  ardor,  en 
shrined  in  the  dark  recess  of  the  tomb.  That  dust 
was  not  permitted  to  crumble  till  the  immortal  mind, 
which  animated  it,  had  prepared  an  invaluable  legacy. 
His  example  is  a  sacred  deposit,  which  seems  to  be  in 
trusted  especially  to  you.  Let  it  never  be  misapplied. 
Let  its  lessons  be  indelibly  inscribed  upon  each  of  your 
hearts.  Call  them  up  now,  and  recur  to  them  fre 
quently  as  you  pass  through  life,  that  you  may  meet 
its  chequered  scenes  with  a  manly  and  Christian  spirit ; 
and,  in  action  and  suffering,  display  a  character  credita 
ble  to  yourselves,  and  honorary  to  Christ.  But  do  you 
ask  what  these  lessons  are?  I  cannot  enumerate  them 
all ;  but  will  aid  you  in  fixing  upon  a  few. 

Never  hesitate,  for  a  moment,  to  make  a  full  and 
hearty  acknowledgment  whenever  you  deviate  in  the 
least  from  the  path  of  strict  rectitude.  This  was  a 


OP    JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  75 

very  noticeable  trait  in  the  youthful  friend  who  has 
fallen  amongst  you.  And  will  any  of  you  say  it  was 
not  a  lovely  trait  ?  Will  any  say  that  it  bears  the 
marks  of  imbecility  ?  Whenever  this  young  man  did 
or  said  any  thing  bordering  upon  disrespect  or  disobe 
dience  to  his  parents,  or  wounding  to  his  associates,  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  making  all  the  reparation  in  his 
power,  by  humble  confession. 

Again,  cultivate  sobriety.  There  was  much  of  this 
in  young  Barrett.  Yet  there  was  nothing  bordering 
upon  moroseness  or  misanthropy.  He  was  ever  cheer 
ful  and  social.  He  loved  society  ;  and,  in  the  company 
of  his  intimate  friends  unbosomed  himself  without  re 
serve.  But  levity  was  an  ingredient  that  hardly  en 
tered  into  his  character.  His  mind  rose  above  trifles. 
Hence  the  common  amusements  of  youth  were,  all 
along,  exceedingly  tasteless  and  insipid  to  him. 

His  modesty  and  diffidence,  I  hardly  need  urge  upon 
you  as  worthy  of  imitation.  They  always  sit  grace 
fully  upon  the  youthful  brow  ;  and  gloomy  are  the 
prospects  of  that  young  man,  who  sees  nothing  lovely 
and  attractive  in  them.  How  disgusting  the  spectacle  of 
a  youth,  rushing  upon  the  ground  which  belongs  to  his 
seniors  :  unwilling  to  wait  till  circumstances  and  public 
sentiment  bring  him  fc  -ward.  It  was  not  so  with  him 
whose  example  I  would  have  you  imitate.  With  all 
his  intellectual  merit,  and  high  reputation  as  a  scholar, 
he  shrunk  from  the  public  gaze,  and  almost  trembled 
as  be  rose  to  speak  in  public. 

But,  young  men,  you  had  better  pass  over  all  his 


76  SERMON    ON    THE    DEATH 

other  traits  than  fix  slightly  upon  his  religion  ;  for  that 
was  the  crowning  excellence  of  his  character.  He  was 
a  praying  youth.  He  was  a  broken  hearted  sinner,  re 
lying  wholly  upon  the  merits  of  Christ.  His  religion 
was  not  a  religion  of  flights  and  fancy.  He  spoke  not 
of  ecstacy,  indeed,  hut  there  was  a  heavenly  peace  : 
calm,  deliberate  and  distinct  views  of  bible  truths : 
truths  which  his  mind  seemed  to  go  out  to  meet,  be 
cause  they  coalesced  with  the  feelings  and  temper  of 
his  heart.  His  religion  breathed  benevolence.  This 
was  tested,  especially,  in  his  contributions  to  the  re 
ligious  charities  of  the  day.  His  attachment  to  the 
house  of  God  was  strikingly  manifested  in  his  continu 
ing  to  attend  public  worship,  long  after  disease  had 
commenced  its  ravages  upon  his  frame.  What  a  re 
proof  to  those  who  are  deterred,  by  the  slightest  incon 
venience,  from  visiting  the  temple  of  God  1 

Barrett  entered  College  under  deep  religious  im 
pressions,  and  it  is  worthy  of  notice  that  they  seemed  to 
mature  even  amidst  its  temptations.  What  a  lesson  to 
those  whose  seriousness,  under  far  more  favorable  cir 
cumstances,  becomes  like  the  morning  cloud  and  the 
early  dew  ! 

Now,  young  men,  with  that  wisdom  which  is  from 
above,  you  may  profit  from  his  life  and  his  death. 
Without  it,  the  fruits  now  fresh  upon  his  grave  will 
wither  before  they  are  gathered.  O  try  not  the  fearful 
experiment  of  living  without  religion.  Without  it 
whatever  else  you  have,  you  cannot  fill  the  vacancy 


OP    JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  77 

made  by  the  fall  of  this  youth.     Without  it,  you  cannot 
lie  down  composedly  on  the  bed  of  death  yourselves. 

But  there  is  another  class,  and  time  admonishes  me 
to  hasten  and  address  them.  They  are  in  the  fires  of 
affliction  emphatically.  These  fires  burn  fiercely  a- 
round  them.  They  are  in  the  midst  of  the  flame. 
But,  my  friends,  you  recollect  the  story  of  the  three 
men,  whom  the  king1  of  Babylon  cast  into  the  burning, 
fiery  furnace.  The  king  looked,  and  lo  !  a  fourth  was 
seen  with  the  rest  in  the  furnace  ;  and  his  form  was 
like  the  Son  of  God  !  He  was  the  Son  of  God  truly ; 
and  is  he  not  with  you  ?  He  is  always  with  his  people 
in  their  afflictions.  He  is  sitting  (as  another  Scripture 
strikingly  represents  him)  like  a  refiner,  who  watches 
the  crucible,  and  when  the  metal  is  sufficiently  purified, 
extinguishes  the  flame.  So  Christ  is  watching  you, 
while  in  the  fires,  and  will  regulate  the  flame  just  as 
the  case  demands.  I  am  not  insensible  that  there 
are  many  bitter  ingredients  in  your  cup  of  affliction. 
Joseph  was  your  only  son;  he  was  your  first  born.  No 
wonder,  then,  that  your  hearts  should  be  greatly  bound 
up  in  him.  But,  although  you  were  his  earthly  pa 
rents,  remember  he  had  a  Father  in  heaven ;  and,  dear 
as  were  you  to  him,  yet,  we  trust,  his  heavenly  Father 
was  dearer.  He  has  left  his  earthly  parents,  who,  at 
best,  could  only  contribute  to  his  comfort  and  usefulness 
here,  to  enter  upon  an  inheritance  incorruptible  and 
undefiled,  and  that  fadeth  not  away  ;  these  fragile  and 
decaying  mansions  for  a  house  not  made  with  hands, 
eternal  in  the  heavens. 


78  SERMON    ON    THE    DEATH 

He  was,  too,  I  know,  an  amiable  and  promising 
child.  His  whole  demeanor  was  marked  with  such 
kindness,  respect  and  affection  as  shed  a  most  delightful 
influence  over  the  family  circle.  All  your  fond  antici 
pations,  in  respect  to  his  future  usefulness,  are  ended  ; 
and  your  hopes,  raised  high  as  they  were,  are  hlighted 
and  withered.  But  have  you  not  been  accustomed  to 
identify  your  own  happiness  with  his  ?  Fix  your  eye, 
then,  upon  that  higher  sphere,  in  which,  we  trust,  he 
now  moves.  Like  the  orb  of  day,  when  the  heavens 
are  hung  in  blackness,  his  light  is  obscured  ;  but,  like 
that  orb.  it  glows  still,  concealed  as  it  is  from  human 
view.  Wherefore  "glorify  ye  the  Lord  in  the  fires." 
This  has  been  a  precious  portion,  all  along  in  your 
affliction.  Dwell  upon  it  still.  Perhaps  you  were  in 
danger  of  idolizing  your  son.  Let  the  affections  that 
centered  in  him,  with  such  intensity,  be  transferred, 
with  accumulated  strength,  to  his  Saviour  and  your 
Saviour. 

And  is  there  any  thing  which  can  mitigate  the  grief 
of  these  sisters?  There  is  much,  surely,  adapted  to 
moderate  their  sorrow,  although  there  is  nothing  but 
the  balm  of  Gilead  can  heal  the  wound  which  has  been 
inflicted.  Your  brother  was  indeed  deservedly  dear  to 
you  :  but  those  qualities,  which  made  him  so,  and 
which  give  poignancy  to  your  grief,  are  the  very  ones, 
for  aught  you  know,  which,  hallowed  by  gospel  influ 
ence,  fitted  him  for  a  higher  sphere.  The  deeper  the 
affliction,  too,  the  more  effectually  will  it  promote  your 
spiritual  interests,  if  it  be  properly  improved.  May  it 


OF    JOSEPH    A.    BARRETT.  79 

bring  you  all  upon  the  ground  of  the  decided,  active 
Christian;  and  may  you  come  out  of  this  furnace  like 
gold  seven  times  refined.  You  remember  the  cautions, 
admonitions  and  instructions  of  your  brother.  I  trust 
they  will  never  be  erased  from  your  memory.  Some  of 
them  are  embalmed  on  your  Album.  Thence  they 
will  never  be  obliterated,  unless  by  the  falling  tear. 
Copy  out  his  precepts  and  example  in  )^our  own  life, 
and  thus  embody,  in  an  imperishable  form,  whatever 
was  most  valuable  in  your  departed  brother ;  that  when 
these  heavens  are  no  more,  and  his  body  with  yours 
shall  rise,  they  may  bloom  in  immortal  youth. 


LINES, 

Composed  by  the  deceased,  referred  to  in  the  preceding  dis 
course,  and  sung  after  the  sermon. 

A    PRAYER. 

O  THOU,  who  reign'st  in  Heaven  above. 
Where  all  is  peace,  and  joy,  and  love, 
And  hope  forever  bright ; 
Prostrate  I  bow  before  thy  throne, 
And  humbly  my  transgressions  own, 
So  heinous  in  thy  sight. 


80 


A    PRAYER. 

Thou  art  a  God  exalted  high, 

In  glory  and  in  majesty, 

Above  my  highest  thought ; 

Yet  thou,  O  Lord,  dost  condescend 

To  be  to  those  a  gracious  friend, 
Who  serve  thee  as  they  ought. 

For  thine  assistance  now  I  pray, 

O  may  I  never  go  astray, 

Nor  walk  forbidden  ground  ; 

Preserve  my  feet  and  guard  my  heart, 

And  may  I  seek  that  better  part, 

Which  Mary  sought  and  found. 

May  I  receive  thy  word  as  truth, 
Make  it  the  portion  of  my  youth, 
And  grow  in  heavenly  grace ; 
O  may  I  ever,  ever  share 
Thy  tender,  thy  paternal  care 
And  reconciling  face. 

And  when  with  things  below  I've  done, 

Well  may  my  earthly  course  be  run, 

And  I  prepared  to  die ; 

Then  shall  my  spirit  soar  away 

To  regions  of  eternal  day 

And  bliss  beyond  the  sky. 


COMPOSITIONS 

OF 

EMILY      M.      BARRET  T. 

WITH    A    BRIEF 

SKETCH  OF  HER  CHARACTER. 


COMPOSITIONS, 
•S,c, 


[Most  of  the  literary  productions  here  published  were  the 
author's  weekly  exercises  in  composition,  while  attending  the 
Young  Ladies'  Institute  in  New-Haven,  Conn.  Nearly  all  of 
her  writings  she  destroyed,  being  always  decidedly  opposed  to 
any  thing  like  publicity  extending  to  the  productions  of  her 
pen.  A  few  only  are  preserved,  which  we  insert  below,  not 
on  account  of  their  containing  particular  literary  merit,  but  as  a 
gratification  to  surviving  friends.] 


AMUSEMENTS. 

BY  the  aid  of  History,  we  learn  that  the  practice  of 
devoting  certain  portions  of  time  to  amusements  has 
been  almost  coeval  with  man.  The  particular  kinds 
selected  by  him  have  been  various.  I  believe  that 
hunting  wild  beasts  was  among  the  most  ancient.  Thus 
Nimrod  is  said  to  have  been  a  mighty  hunter.  This 
kind  of  amusement  has  probably  been  pursued  with 
more  or  less  constancy  and  ardor,  during  the  time  inter 
vening  between  his  day  and  the  present.  That  it  tends 
to  promote  the  strength  and  dexterity  of  the  physical 


84  COMPOSITIONS    OF 

frame  is  obvious  ;  but  that  it  also  tends  to  render 
callous  the  native  delicate  sensibilities  of  the  soul  must 
be  equally  so. 

At  length,  as  a  taste  for  intellectual  labor  increased, 
mere  bodily  exercise  had  not  sufficient  charms  ;  and 
amusements,  uniting"  both  these  constituents,  became 
popular.  Of  this  character  were  the  ancient  tourna 
ments  and  Grecian  games  ;  which  engaged  for  a  con 
siderable  time  the  attention  not  of  individuals  only,  but 
of  whole  communities  and  nations.  The  original  de 
sign  of  these  occasional  assemblages  was,  doubtless,  not 
merely  to  render  vigorous  the  body,  but  also  to  inform 
the  understanding,  amuse  the  fancy,  and  refine  the 
taste  :  and  such  was  probably  their  effect  for  a 
season. 

The  theatre  had.  originally,  a  similar  object,  and, 
to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  it  attained  that  end.  But, 
at  the  present  day,  owing  to  a  deviation  from  the  right 
method  of  conducting  them,  or  from  some  other  cause, 
a  constant  attendance  on  theatrical  exhibitions  is  suc 
ceeded  by  very  different  consequences, — a  love  of  dissi 
pation,  aversion  to  the  performance  of  ordinary  duties, 
and  a  disrelish  for  more  substantial  entertainment, 
being  the  almost  invariable  results. 

The  more  insignificant  kinds  of  amusements,  or  such 
as  are  employed  by  certain  individuals  to  occupy  their 
feeble  attention,  while,  in  their  view,  time  and  life  roll 
slowly  on,  it  is  vain  to  attempt  to  enumerate.  The 
effects  of  disposing  of  time,  in  this  way,  are  in  a 
measure  manifest  to  the  mind  of  every  one.  To  those, 


EMILY    M.    BARRETT.  85 

who  have  the  most  rational  views  of  the  subject,  it 
seems  strange  and  lamentable,  that  man  should  so 
degrade  his  station  and  disregard  his  truest  interest,  as 
to  cleave,  with  childish  fondness,  to  futile  and  forbidden 
trifles. 

The  great  liability  of  amusements  of  every  kind  to 
lead  to  these  fearful  results,  justifies  the  precaution  to 
engage  in  them  with  the  greatest  care  and  moderation. 


ENTHUSIASM. 

ENTHUSIASM,  I  apprehend,  is  a  natural  or  acquired 
ardor  of  feeling,  founded  on  the  degree  of  importance 
we  imagine  the  object  on  which  we  are  employed  to  pos 
sess.  And,  if  our  estimate  of  the  relative  value  of  ob 
jects  be  materially  affected  and  modified  by  the  influ 
ence  of  example,  by  local  situation,  by  previous  habits, 
— the  varied  exhibitions  of  this  attribute  of  mind,  by 
different  individuals,  may  be  easily  accounted  for.  It 
is  a  law  of  our  nature  that,  whatever  undertaking  we 
deem  important,  necessarily  inspires  us  with  a  zealous 
and  enthusiastic  spirit.  Hence  it  follows  that  our  en 
thusiasm  may  be  the  result  of  just  and  correct  views 
of  the  subject, — or  of  over-rating  its  importance  ;  from 
which  latter  kind  may  result  incalculable  evil.  Thus 
we  see  the  necessity  of  estimating  things  according  to 
their  real  worth,  that  we  may  bestow  our  efforts  on  ob 
jects  worthy  of  them.  This  ardor  or  zeal,  when  hap 
pily  directed,  is  necessary  to  the  execution  of  any  pro- 
8* 


86 


COMPOSITIONS    OF 


ject.  It  may  be  called  the  parent  of  success.  By  it 
have  all  the  memorable  achievements  of  past  ages  been 
accomplished.  Yes,  the  heroes  of  old  believed  liberty, 
victory,  and  military  glory,  worth  striving  for  :  and, 
influenced  by  this  belief,  they  were  urged  on,  through 
opposition,  and  danger,  and  peril,  to  fight  manfully  for 
the  attainment  of  this  good. 

And  how  came  ourselves,  in  modern  times,  in  pos 
session  of  national  independence  and  its  attendant 
blessings  ?  In  consequence  of  the  same  ardor  and 
zeal,  exercised  by  the  undaunted  hero  of  our  coun 
try.  And  what  enabled  him  to  labour  so  assidu 
ously,  and  suffer  so  courageously  ?  A  knowledge  of 
the  importance  of  the  object,  I  answer.  The  value  of 
freedom  he  realized  ;  and  a  prospect  of  securing  and 
imparting  to  his  countrymen  a  blessing  so  inestimable, 
seems  to  have  been  the  grand  spring  of  his  illustrious 
efforts. 

In  short,  we  have  abundant  evidence,  from  the  na 
ture  of  the  case,  that  a  degree  of  ardor  and  energy  is 
necessary,  would  we  attain  any  good, — whether  civil, 
intellectual,  moral,  or  religious. 


P  RISC  ILL  A    N . 

ON  the  20th  of  June,  1830,  I  left  the  populous  city 
of  L.  with  its  necessary  confusion,  to  reside  for  a  season 
in  my  own  native  village.  The  prospect  of  revisiting 
that  delightful  spot,  of  again  meeting  my  beloved  friends 


EMILY    M.    BARRETT. 


87 


and  associates,  and  once  more  participating  in  their  joys 
and  sorrows,  was  accompanied  with  emotions  of  pecu 
liar  interest.  I  then  felt  that  attachments,  formed  in 
the  early  period  of  life,  especially  when  founded  on  vir 
tuous  excellence,  are  indeed  the  most  lasting  and 
powerful.  I  soon  found  myself,  as  formerly,  surroun 
ded  by  not  a  few,  whose  expressions  of  friendship 
undissembled  saluted  my  ears.  From  the  eyes  of 
those,  who  were  wont  to  look  upon  me  with  the  most 
lively  and  tender  solicitude,  still  beamed  the  same  affec 
tionate  concern. 

But  those  who  best  know  what  changes  the  lapse  of 
a  few  years  can  produce,  especially  in  the  young,  are 
able  to  conceive  the  alterations  of  character  and  appear 
ance  I  saw  manifest  in  my  former  playmates.  Those, 
whose  virtues,  when  I  last  saw  them,  were  concealed  in  a 
measure  from  human  view,  in  the  bud  of  early  childhood, 
I  found  now,  in  more  advanced  youth,  beautifying  the 
surrounding  objects,  and  extending  the  odour  of  their 
influence,  through  the  whole  adjacent  region.  Among 
those  of  this  interesting  class,  stood  pre-eminent  the  case 

of  Priscilla  N ,  which  it  is  my  present  object  to 

describe. 

She  received  from  nature  the  gift  of  a  beautiful  per 
son,  together  with  moral  qualities  truly  engaging,  and 
evinced  the  possession  of  mental  endowments  of  a  su 
perior  order.  Such  attractions  centering  in  her,  it  seems 
not  strange  that  the  affections  of  her  parents  should  en- 
twine  themselves  round  so  lovely  an  object.  Still  they 
suffered  not  the  gift  to  engross  their  attention  to  the  ex- 


COMPOSITIONS    OF 

elusion  of  the  exercise  of  becoming  gratitude  towards 
the  benevolent  Giver.  They  were  aware  of  the  vast 
importance  of  rightly  nurturing  this  plant  immortal  ; 
and  to  inculcate  within  her  virtuous  principles  and 
give  a  happy  direction  to  her  ductile  powers,  was 
made  the  primary  object  of  their  life.  And  they  suc 
ceeded  in  their  well-aimed  endeavours  ;  for  she  gave 
proof  of  such  genuine  integrity  and  vigour  of  intellect, 
as  rendered  her  the  delight  of  the  good,  and  the  admi 
ration  of  the  great.  Thus  was  her  early  character 
considered,  and  well  might  high  expectations  exist  as  to 
enjoying  the  progressive  developement  of  her  virtues. 

But  this  they  were  not  to  enjoy  :  for  she  was  soon 
transplanted  to  a  more  pacific  climate,  where  her  virtues 
were  destined  to  unfold  beneath  a  more  genial  influence, 
than  that  which  enlightens  our  orb,  so  marred,  of  a 
Sun  more  glorious. 


HUMAN     VICISSITUDES. 

WHO,  that  has  the  feelings  and  sensibilities  of  hu 
manity,  has  failed  to  be  affected,  now  and  then,  at  a 
view  of  the  changes  and  vicissitudes  incident  to  man 
kind  ?  Go  back,  in  imagination,  to  the  time  when  our 
world  was  first  made  the  habitation  of  man,  and  look 
"  through  the  long  vista  of  ages"  up  to  the  present  cen 
tury — and  say,  can  the  mind  resist  an  emotion  of  mel 
ancholy  at  the  ever- vary  ing  scene  ?  Where  now  are 
the  inhabitants,  with  all  the  learning,  the  wealth,  and 


EMILY    M.    BARRETT.  89 

the  glory  of  ancient  Egypt  ?  Let  the  catacombs  of 
Cairo  answer.  Where  now  is  Assyrian  greatness,  and 
where  Chaldean  splendour  ?  Let  the  ruins  of  Nineveh 
arid  Babylon  say.  Where  now  are  the  refinement  and 
glory  of  ancient  Greece  ?  Let  modern  Setina  and  Mi- 
sistra  tell.  Where  now  is  ancient  Rome,  with  her  six 
millions  of  inhabitants — the  proud  mistress  of  the 
world,  and  the  seat  of  every  art  ?  Let  Rome  at  present 
reply.  Where  too  are  the  red  men,  that  once  roamed, 
so  numerous,  the  wilds  of  America  ?  Ah,  the  moul 
dering  bones  of  thousands,  and  the  complaining  voices 
of  a  surviving  few,  give  but  too  true  a  response  I 

Striking  indeed  are  the  changes,  which  have  marked 
the  course  of  nations  and  communities.  Behold  their 
history.  They  rise,  they  thrive,  they  bloom  ; — they 
decline,  they  fade,  they  die.  How  many  nations, 
whose  name  was  once  a  name  of  spotless  splendour, — 
whose  sway  was  once  a  sway  of  all-commanding 
power, — whose  promise  was  once  a  promise  of  perennial 
prosperity, — have  now  sunk  to  rise  no  more  !  One 
community  has  swallowed  up  another,  and  been  itself 
swallowed  up  in  turn. 

Take  too  a  view  of  individuals.  Once  a  Homer 
lived — the  first  successful  wooer  of  the  heroic  muse — 
the  envied  object  of  universal  praise.  A  few  short  years 
beheld  him  the  glory  of  his  age — the  boast  of  his 
countrymen ; — and  Homer  was  no  more.  Once  a  Cicero 
adorned  the  Roman  state — a  master  of  eloquence,  a 
model  of  patriotism.  A  few  revolving  years  saw 
him  captivating  by  his  oratory  the  attentive,  gazing 


90  COMPOSITIONS    OF 

crowd  ;  supporting,  by  his  power,  the  assaulted  fabric 
of  the  republic  ;  embellishing,  by  his  writings,  the  lit 
erature  of  his  country  ; — and  Cicero  was  not.  Once 
a  Milton  acted  upon  the  stage  of  life,  the  acknowledged 
leader  of  modern  bards.  Some  annual  suns  rolled  over 
him,  while  he  was  engaged  in  public  and  poetic  labours, 
and  carving,  perhaps  unconsciously,  his  name  high 
upon  the  pillar  of  Fame, — and  Milton  was  not.  Once, 
too,  a  Newton  lived — a  philosopher,  who  shone  the 
brightest  star  in  the  firmament  of  science.  A  few  fleet 
ing  years,  and  Newton  had  ceased  to  be  on  earth. 

But  I  forbear.  We  need  not  search  the  pages  of 
history,  and  look  back,  through  the  long  lapse  of  ages, 
to  find  examples  to  illustrate  and  prove  the  transitory 
nature  of  temporal  scenes,  and  the  unsatisfying  nature 
of  every  pleasure  derived  from  an  earthly  source.  For 
we  ourselves  in  our  limited  experience  have  witnessed 
"  life's  checker'd  scenes."  How  often  has  our  own  cup 
of  life,  promising  once  an  overflowing  draught  of  un 
mixed  delight,  been  suddenly  embittered  by  disappoint 
ment  and  death.  Finally,  in  view  of  the  impossibility 
of  receiving  complete  and  permanent  happiness  from 
any  terrestrial  object,  how  indispensably  important  it  is 
that  we  secure 

u  Those  golden  joys  ambrosial. 

Which,  clustering,  grow  on  life's  fair  tree, 

Fast  by  the  throne  of  God, 

And  ripen  for  the  just, 

When  momentary  ages  are  no  more." 


EMILY    M.    BARRETT.  91 


The  following  article  was  written  at  N.  I.  while  attending 
school.  A  discussion  was  proposed  upon  the  question, 
"  Which  is  deserving  of  most  praise,  Columbus  for  dis 
covering  America,  or  Washington  for  defending  his 
Country." 

WE  are  now  discussing  the  comparative  merits  of 
two  eminent  characters — the  one  the  discoverer  of  our 
continent,  the  other  the  defender  of  our  country.  It  de 
volves  upon  me  to  maintain  that  Columbus  is  deserving 
of  more  praise  and  honor  than  Washington.  This  I 
shall  attempt  to  prove  by  showing  that  the  projection 
and  execution  of  the  plan  of  Columbus,  namely,  a  voyage 
to  the  west  to  discover  land  unknown  to  the  nations  of 
the  eastern  continent,  actually  required  a  greater  genius, 
a  more  discerning  and  investigating  mind,  than  the 
achievements  of  Washington  in  the  defence  of  our 
country. 

Just  consider  the  times  and  the  circumstances  in 
which  my  hero  lived.  To  the  generality  of  the  people 
around  him,  indeed  I  might  say  to  all  save  his  own 
discriminating  self,  the  idea  of  the  existence  of  land 
far,  far  away  in  the  western  waters,  was  in  the  highest 
degree  absurd  and  preposterous.  Like  a  great  philoso 
pher,  whose  views  and  principles  are  unintelligible  to 
common  capacities,  he  formed  an  opinion  that  there 
existed  in  the  western  hemisphere,  either  a  vast  conti 
nent  by  itself,  or  an  extensive  territory  connected  with 


92  COMPOSITIONS    OF 

Asia.  This  opinion  was  treated  with  scorn  and  de 
rision,  not  only  by  men  of  ordinary  minds,  but  even  by 
the  most  learned  and  sagacious  of  his  age.  Now  the 
fact  that  he  alone  of  all  the  magi  of  the  east  actually 
formed  this  opinion,  and  adhered  to  it,  notwithstanding 
the  insults  which  on  account  of  it  he  received,  and  the 
prejudices  he  had  to  combat,  strongly  proves  the  depth 
of  his  understanding,  and  the  profoundness  of  his  mind. 
Others  in  Europe  there  were,  who  like  Washington 
could  skilfully  and  bravely  command  an  army,  but  no 
others  in  Europe  there  were,  who  had  genius  sufficient 
to  devise,  and  resolution  sufficient  to  execute  the  glori 
ous  scheme  of  Columbus.  See  him  standing  unshaken 
amid  the  scoffs  and  the  sneers  of  the  multitude,  and 
persevering  in  his  grand  and  heroic  enterprize,  not 
withstanding  he  met  with  scarce  any  encouragement, 
but  much  opposition  from  others,  until  finally  he  opened 
to  the  view  of  the  Eastern  World,  ungrateful  as  it  was, 
a  new,  rich,  and  extensive  continent.  And  now  tell 
me,  whether  his  genius  and  intrepidity  are  not  more 
apparent  than  those  of  Washington,  who  was  aided 
and  supported  in  all  his  undertakings  by  three  millions 
of  friends?  Now,  since  I  think  it  is  evident  that  a  more 
discerning  mind  and  a  greater  genius  are  evinced  by 
Columbus  in  the  discovery  of  America,  considering  the 
times  and  the  circumstances  in  which  he  lived,  than 
are  evinced  by  Washington  in  the  defence  of  his  coun 
try,  let  us  all — I  do  not  say  cease  to  honor  Washington, 
but  let  us  all  unite  in  louder  strains  to  celebrate  the 
praise  of  Columbus. 


EMILY    M.    BARRETT.  93 

It  is  asserted  that  Columbus,  in  sailing  for  the  East 
Indies,  discovered  our  continent  by  chance,  but  if  by 
chance,  it  was  intentional  chance,  and  such  in  a  good 
cause  is  always  entitled  to  commendation.  It  was  in 
deed  just  such  chance,  except  a  more  honorable  one,  as 
that  by  which  the  celebrated  navigator,  Capt.  Cook, 
made  his  numerous  discoveries ;  and  who  so  little,  who 
so  foolish,  as  to  say  that  even  he,  a  navigator  of  the 
pigmy  kind  in  comparison  with  Columbus,  for  these 
discoveries  merits  no  commendation,  because  if  he  had 
happened  to  sail  in  a  different  direction,  they  would  not 
have  been  made  !  The  object  of  Columbus  was  to 
discover  land  in  the  west.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to 
tell  whether  there  was  in  the  western  hemisphere  a 
continent  per  se:  or  whether  Asia  and  the  East  Indies 
extended  round  and  occupied  a  large  part  of  it.  But 
as  my  opponents  would  have  it,  suppose  for  once  that 
his  principal  object  was  the  discovery  of  the  East 
Indies.  He  did  discover,  if  you  please,  the  great  East 
India  island  now  called  America. 

From  what  has  now  been  said  by  me  and  others,  we 
see  that  the  inventive  and  fruitful  mind  of  Columbus, 
which  prompted  him  to  the  noble  enterprise  of  discov 
ery,  opened  the  way  for  the  emigration  of  the  Pilgrims 
to  this  country,  and  laid  the  foundation  for  the  estab 
lishment  of  that  amount  of  peace,  happiness,  and  politi 
cal  glory  (involving  all  that  has  been  gained  through 
the  instrumentality  of  Washington,  and  his  coworkers) 
which  is  now  enjoyed  in  this  enlightened  land. 
9 


94  COMPOSITIONS    OF 


CONVERSATON    BETWEEN    A    GEN 
TLEMAN    AND    HIS    SON. 

Written  during  the  summer  of  1932,  at  Neic  Haven. 

Son.  FATHER,  are  you  at  liberty  to  listen  to,  and 
answer  some  inquiries  I  have  to  make  ? 

Father.  I  think  of  nothing-  in  particular,  that  de 
mands  my  immediate  attention  ;  but,  my  son,  in  rela 
tion  to  what  subject  do  you  wish  information  ? 

(Son.  A  subject  of  which,  until  yesterday,  I  was  not 
aware  of  being  so  ignorant, — but  when  called  upon  to 
relate  the  distinguishing  properties  of  an  animal,  a 
stone,  and  a  plant,  1  was  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed,  not 
withstanding  the  ease  with  which  we  distinguish  them 
in  practical  life : — and  as  I  now  feel  interested  in  the 
subject,  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  tell  me  all 
about  it. 

Father.  I  am  sensible  that  for  the  purpose  of  ana 
lyzing  the  bodies  belonging  to  the  several  kingdoms,  of 
which  those  you  mentioned  constitute  a  part,  so  as  to 
observe  their  distinguishing  characteristics,  not  much 
attention  is  often  paid  to  the  subject.  What  knowledge 
I  possess,  relative  to  it,  I  will  gladly  communicate.  In 
the  first  place,  instead  of  the  former  classification  of 
material  objects,  into  mineral,  animal,  and  vegetable 
kingdoms,  a  more  philosophical  division  of  natural 


EMILY    M.    BARRETT.  95 

objects  is,  into  such  as  are  possessed  of  life,  and  such  as 
are  not  possessed  of  life.  In  consequence  of  this,  ani 
mals  and  vegetables  are  brought  into  one  class,  and  all 
mineral  substances  into  the  other.  In  many  striking 
respects  we  shall  perceive,  on  a  careful  examination, 
living  bodies  differ  from  the  inanimate  part  of  creation. 
First,  in  the  mode  of  their  origin — the  former  being  de 
pendent  on  the  existence  of  previous  individuals,  simi 
lar  to  themselves.  Thus,  you  know,  plants  germinate 
from  the  seed  of  some  other  plant,  of  a  similar  nature. 
This,  you  perceive,  is  an  obvious  distinction,  inasmuch 
as  no  mineral  is  formed  in  this  way.  Now,  you  see, 
we  have  found  one  circumstance  in  which  an  animal  or 
plant  differs  from  a  stone. 

Son.  Yes,  father,  and  one  which  it  seems  almost 
strange  I  did  not  at  once  recollect. 

Father.  But  to  proceed,  living  bodies  differ  from 
minerals  as  to  the  mode  in  which  their  existence  is  con 
tinued,  being  dependent  upon  other  things  for  materials 
to  support  it.  The  nature  of  which  they  are  composed 
undergoes  a  constant  change,  and  part  of  it  is  at  length 
expended  ;  this  loss  must  be  repaired.  Hence  the  ne 
cessity  of  applying  nourishment  of  a  suitable  nature  to 
every  living  thing.  Whereas  minerals  contain  in  them 
selves  whatever  is  necessary  to  their  preservation  ;  and 
are  to  be  destroyed  only  by  the  operation  of  mechani 
cal  powers  or  chemical  action.  In  the  third  place,  not 
withstanding  the  dependence  of  living  bodies  on  other 
substances  for  the  means  of  continuing  their  existence, 
they  possess,  in  one  sense,  a  kind  of  independence  upon 


96  COMPOSITIONS    OP 

all  other  matter.  They  contain  within  them  a  princi 
ple  which  enables  them  to  resist  the  operation  of  those 
physical  and  mechanical  laws  which  cause  the  destruc 
tion  of  other  bodies,  deprived  of  this  vivifying  princi 
ple.  Likewise  the  principle  of  internal  heat  is  observed 
to  be  n.  concomitant  of  animal  life. 

Son.  If  I  understand  yon  rightly,  most  of  the  dif 
ferences  you  have  related  are  circumstances  of  distinc 
tion  common  to  living  bodies,  both  animal  and  vegeta 
ble.  I  should  like  to  know  what  particular  property  it 
is  that  constitutes  the  difference  between  these  two 
kingdoms. 

Father.  This  one  distinguishing  principle  never 
has  been  discovered :  but  the  difference  consists  in  vari 
ous  circumstances,  the  most  important  of  which  I  shall 
mention.  They  are  found  to  possess  different  organs, 
a  different  structure,  and  a  difference  in  the  principles 
that  actuate  them.  First,  this  appears  from  their  dif 
ferent  modes  of  taking  and  digesting  food.  In  animals, 
food  is  taken  by  the  exercise  of  volition,  being  affected 
unpleasantly  by  the  sensation  of  hunger.  The  same 
is  not  true  with  respect  to  vegetables.  Secondly,  ani 
mals  are  furnished  with  internal  organs,  whose  office  it 
is  to  operate  upon  the  food  taken  into  the  body,  and  fit 
it  to  sustain  and  nourish  the  same.  In  plants,  on  the 
contrary,  there  are  no  such  internal  organs  for  diges 
tion,  but  the  nourishment  is  absorbed  from  the  earth  by 
the  roots.  Thirdly,  animals  differ  from  vegetables  in 
the  nature  of  their  food.  They  do  not  like  plants  re 
ceive  for  nourishment  the  mere  elements  of  nature,  but 


EMILY    M.    BARRETT.  97 

require  substances  previously  organized.  Fourthly,  an 
imals  differ  from  vegetables  in  the  time  of  taking  their 
food.  While  the  latter  are  constantly  in  contact  with 
the  substances  from  which  they  derive  their  support, 
the  former,  at  certain  periods  only,  when  stimulated  by 
appetite,  seek  a  supply  of  food.  Also,  sixthly,  the 
structure  and  form  of  vegetables  are  another  mark  of 
distinction.  I  need  not  dwell  upon  their  relative  differ 
ences,  for  although  in  some  few  instances  the  line  of 
distinction  seems  hardly  discernible,  in  general  the  dis 
crimination  is  made  with  the  greatest  facility.  Farther, 
the  composition  is  not  the  sains  in  the  two  classes  of 
bodies,  Besides  the  three  elements  oxygen,  hydrogen, 
and  carbon,  essential  to  vegetables,  nitrogen  is  necessa 
ry  to  animal  existence.  From  the  view  I  have  taken 
of  the  subject,  I  trust  you  perceive  that  the  distinction 
in  the  several  objects  around  us,  consists  not  in  one 
principle  only,  admitting  of  a  precise  definition,  but 
that  the  difference  must  be  sought  in  their  mode  of  ori 
gin,  mode  of  continuing  in  existence,  in  their  relative 
organs  for  taking  and  digesting  food,  in  the  nature  of 
their  food,  in  the  time  of  taking  nourishment,  their 
structure  and  composition.  From  observing  these  dif 
ferences,  we  may  reasonably  deduce  another  important 
one,  namely,  that  animals  possess  powers  of  sensation, 
perception,  and  volition,  by  which  they  acquire  a 
knowledge  of  the  existence  and  qualities  of  other 
bodies,  and,  by  means  of  these  organs  and  powers,  are 
fitted  to  enjoy  existence. 

Finally,  my  son,  cultivate  a  spirit  of  inquiry,  and 
9* 


98  COMPOSITIONS    OF 

although  the  benefits  of  so  doing  may  be  concealed 
from  you  now,  they  will,  in  the  course  of  time,  unfold 
themselves. 


THOUGHTS    SUGGESTED   BY   LEAVING 
SCHOOL. 

SCARCELY  any  occurrence  has  a  greater  tendency 
to  excite  the  different  emotions  of  sorrow  and  joy,  than 
the  expiration  of  a  school  term.  Sorrow  may  be  ex 
pected,  inasmuch  as  our  immediate  connection  with 
our  companions  is  dissolved — and  perhaps  for  life.  We 
have  reason  for  sorrow,  too,  if  upon  examination  we 
find  our  relative  duties  have  not  been  promptly  and 
faithfully  performed.  I  have  known  an  instance  of 
severe  and  heartfelt  regret,  occasioned  by  a  conscious 
neglect  of  these  specific  duties.  Many  of  us  have, 
doubtless,  reason  to  lament  over  our  deficiencies  in  this 
respect.  How  many  acts  of  kindness  have  we  superfi 
cially  done,  and  how  many,  devolving  upon  us,  have 
we  neglected  altogether.  Evident  is  the  truth  of  the 
sentiment  that  "  opportunities  neglected  occasion  sor 
row."  When  we  reflect,  too,  on  the  many  ways  in 
which  we  have  erred  in  fulfilling  our  duties  to  our 
teachers  we  have  cause  for  sorrow — for  our  frequent 
inattention  to  their  instructions,  for  the  indocility  and 
intractableness  we  have  too  often  manifested  ;  we  have 
cause  of  sorrow,  in  short,  for  our  nonobservance  of  the 


EMILY    M.    BARRETT. 


99 


duty  to  "  render  honor  to  whom  honor  is  due."  Again, 
we  have  occasion  to  sorrow  for  the  imperfect  performance 
of  the  duties  we  owe  to  ourselves.  Instead  of  exerting 
our  utmost  to  strengthen  our  powers,  and  enrich  our 
minds,  and  improve  our  hearts,  how  have  we  yielded  to 
indifference  and  inaction !  But  in  sundering  our  relation 
with  the  Young  Ladies  Institute,  can  we  feel  that  there 
is  no  source  of  joy  or  pleasure  ?  True,  we  are  to  sep 
arate  from  our  new  made  friends,  but  it  is  a  consoling 
truth  that  enjoyments  of  youth  afford  almost  equal  de 
light,  when  recalled  by  memory  as  when  originally  ex 
perienced.  And  our  personal  improvement,  though 
much  less  than  with  sufficient  effort  it  might  have 
been,  we  hope  is  perceptible. 

May  the  knowledge  we  have  here  acquire'd,  be  so 
retained  and  employed,  as  to  yield  profit  to  ourselves, 
and  honor  to  our  teachers. 


THE    BIBLE. 

AMONG  the  works  of  the  Almighty,  as  displayed  in 
the  material  world,  Man  stands  preeminent.  He  is 
endowed  with  intellectual  powers  and  faculties  :  so  that 
in  respect  to  the  capacities  of  his  mind,  he  maintains  a 
rank  in  the  scale  of  created  beings,  second  only  to  that 
held  by  the  "  angels  of  light."  Nor  are  his  existence 
and  importance  to  terminate  at  the  close  of  this  present 
life.  The  soul  which  he  possesses  is  destined  to  live 


100  COMPOSITIONS    OF 

forever,  and  that  too,  either  in  a  state  of  perfect  happi 
ness,  or  one  of  perfect  misery.  Whether  he  finally  be 
comes  a  partaker  of  heavenly  felicity,  or  not,  depends 
upon  his  compliance  or  noncompliance  with  certain 
known  conditions.  But  although  the  light  of  reason 
alone  is  sufficient  to  direct  his  eye  through  nature  up 
to  nature's  God  ;  to  discover  unto  him  the  adorable 
perfections  and  character  of  his  Maker  ;  to  point  out  to 
him  the  path  which  leads  down  to  the  chambers  of 
eternal  death,  and  that  which  conducts  to  the  realms  of 
everlasting  bliss,  the  Almighty,  out  of  mere  love  and 
benevolence,  has  given  to  him  a  revelation  of  his  own 
will  and  purposes,  and  thus  made  still  plainer  to  him 
the  course,  by  the  taking  of  which  he  may  secure  to 
himself  a  crown  of  glory — a  heavenly  inheritance. 
And  this  revelation  is  styled  the  Bible.  This  holy 
volume,  since  its  first  appearance  in  our  world,  has 
been  considered  by  the  truly  wise  and  good,  as  a  book, 
which  more  than  all  others  is  entitled  to  our  attention 
and  regard.  I  shall  now  proceed  to  state  some  of  the 
reasons  why  it  should  be  more  highly  prized,  and  more 
attentively  perused  than  other  writings.  First,  one  of 
its  peculiar  excellencies  consists  in  the  purity,  strength, 
and  sublimity  of  its  language.  All  persons  of  refined 
taste  and  correct  literary  judgment,  who  are  acquaint 
ed  with  this  sacred  volume,  concur  in  pronouncing  it 
the  most  perfect  specimen  of  fine  original  style,  striking 
imagery,  and  happy  illustration  that  has  ever  come 
within  the  knowledge  of  man.  By  every  lover  of  the 
plain,  the  beautiful,  the  grand  and  sublime,  the  Bible, 


EMILY    M.    BARRETT.  101 

considered  merely  with  respect  to  its  language,  cannot 
but  be  really  admired,  and  really  prized.  No  other 
book  is  so  well  calculated  to  elevate  the  genius  of  the 
scholar,  and  inspire  the  true  spirit  of  eloquence.  "  I 
will  hazard  the  assertion,"  said  the  honorable  Fisher 
Ames,  "  that  no  man  ever  did,  nor  ever  will,  become 
truly  eloquent  without  being  a  constant  reader  of  the 
Bible,  and  an  admirer  of  the  purity  and  sublimity  of 
its  language." 

Secondly,  the  origin  of  the  Bible  is  such,  as  ren 
ders  it  worthy  of  peculiar  regard.  It  has  a  heavenly 
origin.  The  Lord  of  Heaven  and  Earth  is  its  author. 
And  when  He  makes  a  direct  communication  to  our 
race,  surely  we  cannot  but  suppose  that  such  commu 
nication  is  vastly  more  important,  than  the  most  valu 
able  of  human  productions.  Does  not  this  considera 
tion  alone,  evince  its  great  superiority  over  other  books, 
and  its  peculiar  claims  to  our  serious  attention  and  con 
stant  perusal  ? 

But,  thirdly,  the  importance  of  the  truths  it  reveals 
and  the  duties  it  inculcates  commends  it  to  our  special 
notice  and  veneration.  It  informs  us  of  the  extreme 
sinfulness  of  our  natures,  and  depravity  of  our  hearts  ; 
— it  tells  us  that  Christ,  the  only  begotten  and  dearly 
beloved  son  of  God,  came  into  our  world  and  suffered 
and  died  for  us — suffered  and  died  to  redeem  us  from 
the  thraldom  of  sin  ; — it  declares  that,  if  we  would  es 
cape  a  world  of  endless  darkness  and  despair,  and  make 
ourselves  eternally  happy,  we  must  believe  in  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  ; — it  tells  us,  that  the  present  is  a  life  of 


102  COMPOSITIONS    OF 

toil  and  care  and  anxiety, — that  no  enduring  happiness 
there  is,  save  that  which  flows  perennial  from  the  throne 
of  God.  It  offers  us  Heaven — and  entreats  us  to  accept 
it  without  money  and  without  price.  It  presents  to  our 
view  the  most  perfect  examples  of  human  wisdom,  jus 
tice  and  piety  the  world  ever  witnessed,  and  directs  us, 
as  far  as  we  are  able,  to  imitate  them.  It  is  indeed  an 
exact  rule  of  duty  in  all  circumstances  and  conditions  in 
life.  What  other  book  1  reals  of  subjects  so  momen 
tous — of  truths  so  important  ? 

Finally,  its  singular  adaptation  to  the  wants  and  ne 
cessities  of  men  demonstrates  its  inestimable  value. 
There  are  no  classes  of  men,  no  individual  persons,  to 
whom  it  may  not  afford  needed  instruction,  consolation 
and  comfort.  To  it  the  hungry  soul  may  come,  and 
feast  upon  the  bread  of  life.  To  it  the  thirsty  soul  may 
come,  and  drink  from  streams  that  never  fail.  Hither 
the  naked  sufferer  may  resort  and  clothe  himself  with 
the  unspotted  robes  of  Christ's  righteousness.  To  the 
Bible,  the  prisoner,  too,  may  come,  and  release  himself 
from  the  bondage  of  sin  and  death.  To  it  the  weary 
sojourner  may  repair,  and  find  rest  unto  his  soul  ;  ob 
tain  that  "  peace  and  joy,  which  the  world  can  neither 
give,  nor  take  away."  And  to  it  the  afflicted  and  the 
sorrowful  may  come,  and  find  it  indeed  a  "  sovereign 
balm  for  every  wound,  a  cordial  for  their  fears." 

Surely  such  a  volume  cannot  receive  too  great  a  por 
tion  of  our  respect  and  confidence.  How  infinitely  far 
below  it,  in  point  of  excellence  and  value,  stand  the 
most  elaborate  productions  of  human  genius.  With 


EMILY    M.    BARRETT.  103 

what  singular  propriety  did  the   Scottish  Bard   exclaim 
in  relation  to  the  Bible, 

"  Most  wond'rous  book  !  bright  candle  of  the  Lord  ! 

Star  of  eternity  !     The  only  star 

By  which  the  bark  of  man  can  navigate 

The  sea  of  life  and  gain  the  coast  of  bliss 

Securely  !     Only  star  which  beams  on  Time 

And  on  its  dark  and  troubled  billows,  still 

As  generation  drifting  swiftly  by 

Succeeds  to  generation,  throws  a  ray 

Of  heaven's  own  light,  and  to  the  hills  of  God, 

The  eternal  hills,  directs  the  sinner's  eye." 


SKETCH. 


ALTHOUGH  more  than  three  years  have  gone  by 
since  the  subject  of  this  sketch  passed  from  this  stage 
of  action  to  that  "  bourne  whence  no  traveller  returns," 
yet  her  memory  is  still  fresh  in  the  hearts  of  her  bereav 
ed  friends  ;  and  the  hand  of  affection  can  hardly 
forbear  to  trace  a  few  of  the  prominent  excellencies  of 
her  life  and  character. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  go  into  detail,  and  narrate  the 
many  incidents  of  her  life,  fraught  with  peculiar  interest 
to  her  immediate  friends,  but  over  which  the  stranger's 
eye  might  pass  with  cold  indifference.  For  strangers, 
however,  this  sketch  is  not  prepared.  It  is  designed  for 
those  whose  thoughts  love  to  linger,  and  whose  hearts 
still  mourn,  over  the  untimely  fate  of  the  departed 
Emily. 

That  hers  was  a  spotless  character,  we  by  no  means 
say  or  think  ;  but  in  it  there  was  so  much  that  savors 
not  of  earth. — so  much  that  we  feel  was  destined  to 
unfold  beneath  more  heavenly  culture  than  is  furnished 
by  the  influences  of  time, — so  much  that  constitutes  the 
germ  of  a  blessed  futurity,  that  we  are  constrained  to 
pronounce  her  life  one  of  no  ordinary  interest. 


BRIEF    SKETCH,    &C.  105 

Such  was  the  sweetness  of  her  disposition  and  tem 
per,  that  her  own  family  can  recall  no  instance  in 
which  her  gentle  spirit  seemed  ruffled,  or  her  mind  un 
happily  excited.  Not  that  she  was  possessed  of  a  morbid 
sensibility  or  a  stoical  temperament.  Far  otherwise  ; 
but,  so  thoroughly  were  her  feelings  under  the  control 
of  judgment  and  principle,  that  rarely,  in  an  unguarded 
moment,  did  she  manifest  aught  unlovely  or  displeas 
ing.  Although  in  her  character  there  was  a  native  live 
liness  and  playfulness  of  manner,  which  animated  and 
threw  a  charm  over  her  conversation,  yet,  so  subdued 
and  chastened  by  education  and  religion  were  her 
natural  propensities,  that  in  levity,  or  any  undue 
elevation  of  spirits,  she  never  allowed  herself  to  in 
dulge. 

\Vith  a  sensibility  peculiarly  delicate,  she  almost 
shrunk  from  coming  in  contact  with  the  discordant  voi 
ces  of  the  jarring  world,  and  dreaded  its  rude  gaze  and 
heartless  offerings.  Had  she  followed  the  promptings 
of  her  own  natural  inclinations,  she  would  have  retired 
far  from  scenes  of  noisy  strife,  and  found  her  happiness 
in  contributing  to  the  comfort  of  her  friends,  in  compan 
ionship  with  nature,  and  communion  with  nature's 
God.  Of  her  it  might  truly  be  said,  she  was  "  never 
less  alone  than  when  alone."  But  her  benevolence  was 
not  of  a  passive  nor  inactive  kind.  It  was  her  delight 
to  make  all  happy  within  the  circle  of  her  influ 
ence.  Yea  more — she  would  exert  herself  to  seek  out 
opportunities  to  relieve  the  sorrows,  and  mitigate  the 
woes  of  the  afflicted  and  distressed.  She  believed  it 
10 


106  BRIEF  SKETCH  OF    THE    CHARACTER 

wicked  to  bury  one's  talent  in  the  earth,  or  acquire  not 
to  impart  again.  She  felt  that  it  was  moie  blessed  to 
give  than  to  receive  ;  and,  actuated  by  a  principle  of 
love  and  benevolence  heaven-born,  she  cheerfully  sacri 
ficed  personal  ease  and  private  comfort,  to  what  duty 
required  of  her.  It  was  emphatically  true  of  her,  that 
"  she  opened  her  mouth  with  wisdom,  and  on  her 
tongue  was  the  law  of  kindness." 

She  was  remarkable  for  conscientiousness;  for  purity 
of  motive,  and  exemplary  walk  and  conversation.  Not 
withstanding  her  prospects  in  life  were  flattering,  and 
her  pecuniary  circumstances  easy  and  ample,  she  was 
not  elated  with  pride  and  self-importance,  but  seemed 
eminently  to  exemplify  the  injunction  of  the  Apostle. 
"  let  the  adorning  be  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit,  which, 
in  the  sight  of  God,  is  of  great  price."  She  seemed,  in 
a  pre-eminent  degree,  uninfluenced  by  any  love  of 
display.  Simplicity  of  manners,  and  of  apparel,  char 
acterized  her  whole  appearance. 

In  January  previous  to  her  death,  her  dear  and  only 
brother  returned  from  college  in  a  very  delicate  state  of 
health.  The  marks  of  pulmonary  consumption  could 
not  be  mistaken.  His  disease  baffled  the  skill  of  phy 
sicians,  and  rendered  the  most  unremittcd  attentions  of 
friends  unavailing.  After  languishing  fifteen  weeks, 
during  which  the  conflicting  emotions  of  hope  and  fear 
alternately  animated  and  depressed  the  hearts  of  the 
family,  his  spirit  took  its  upward  flight. 

To  this  brother  Emily  Maria  was  very  ardently 
attached.  Being  but  about  two  years  younger,  she 


OF    EMILY    M.    BARRETT.  10? 

had  been  his  companion  from  her  earliest  years.  She 
had  travelled  with  him,  and  studied  with  him  : 
and,  during  a  part  of  his  college  course,  had  attended 
the  Young  Ladies'  Institute  in  the  same  place.  Of 
course  she  felt  his  loss  most  sensibly.  But,  although  it 
was  feared  by  her  parents,  an  event  so  afflictive  would 
almost  overpower  her  tender  feelings,  and  threaten  her 
own  d3parture,  yet,  so  peaceful  and  calm  was  his  exit, 
so  tranquil  and  resigned  his  spirit,  that  she  seemed  to 
submit  to  the  stroke  without  a  murmur.  But  she  then 
felt,  as  never  before,  how  inadequate  are  the  scenes  of 
earth  to  afford  consolation  to  the  bereaved  heart  ;  and, 
in  view  of  all  earthly  attractions,  she  felt  sincerely 
to  say 

They  died  with  thee,  my  brother, 
Thy  last  sigh  dissolved  the  charm. 

But,  alas  !  her  course  below  was  soon  to  be  termina 
ted.  In  seven  weeks  from  the  day  of  her  brother's 
death,  her  remains  were  deposited  by  his  side  in  the 
church-yard  of  New-Ipswich. 

O,  how  precarious  is  human  life !  In  two  short 
weeks,  removed  from  a  state  of  health  to  the  dark 
chambers  of  the  grave !  How  overwhelming  for  the 
afflicted  family  !  Forcibly  were  they  reminded  of  the 
words  of  the  poet, 

"  Woes  cluster ;  rare  are  solitary  woes  ; 
They  love  a  train ;  they  tread  each  other's  heel ; 
Her  death  invades  his  mournful  right,  and  claims 
The  grief  that  started  from  our  lids  for  him." 


108  BRIEF    SKETCH,  &C. 

Her  disorder,  typhus  fever,  which  terminated  in  an 
affection  of  the  brain,  deprived  her  of  her  reason  for 
some  days  before  her  death.  This  was  very  trying  for 
tier  friends;  yet  although  from  her  dying  lips,  they  had 
not  the  assurances  that  her  soul  was  in  peace,  they 
could  not  but  feel  that  their  loss  was  her  unspeakable 
gain. 

For  from  the  promise  of  her  youth, 

Her  purity  and  worth, 
May  they  not  hope  her  spirit's  home 

Is  far  above  the  earth  ? 

Thus  was  one,  at  the  early  age  of  eighteen,  in  life's 
bright  morning,  called  to  close  her  eyes  forever  upon 
the  scenes  of  time,  and  enter  upon  the  realities  of  anoth 
er  state  of  existence. 

Her  parents,  thus  doubly  afflicted  and  doubly  bereav 
ed,  again  received  proofs  of  love  and  sympathy  from 
friends  far  and  near,  which  served  to  soothe  their 
bleeding  hearts.  But  within  their  breasts  there  must 
still  exist  an  aching  void,  which  this  world  can  never 
fill — a  wound  which  none  can  heal  but  that  Heavenly 
Friend,  who  is  better  than  father  or  mother,  brother  or 
sister,  son  or  daughter. 


LINES, 

Written  on  the  death  of  Miss  Emily  Maria  Barrett,  aged 
IS,— who  died  June  llth,  1833,— eldest  daughter  of 
Joseph  Barrett,  Esq.  By  R.  A.  Coffin,  Principal  of 
New-Ipswich  Academy. 

YES,  she  is  gone  !    The  tolling  bell  has  rung 

Over  these  hills  and  vales  its  solemn  peal, 

To  tell  that  she  is  gone.     With  what  a  tongue 

Death  speaks  to  all,  who  have  the  power  to  feel 

When  youth  and  loveliness  like  hers  descend 

To  that  last  home,  where  dust  with  dust  must  blend. 

O,  what  is  life  !     A  meteoric  gleam 
Swift  flitting  over  earth's  beclouded  sky  ! 
A  transient  bubble,  floating  down  the  stream 
That  hastens  onward  to  eternity  ; 
A  flower  that  brightens  in  the  morning  sun, 
And  fades  away,  ere  half  the  day  is  done. 

O  ye,  who  dream  of  lasting  joy  below, 
Come  and  behold  the  triumphs  of  the  tomb  ! 
Look  on  that  form.     But  a  few  days  ago 
'Twas  bright  in  health,  and  clothed  in  beauty's  bloom. 
Now  faded  is  that  cheek,  and  dim  that  eye : 
O,  how  can  ye  forget  that  ye  are  born  to  die ! 
10* 


110 


LINES    ON    THE    DEATH 


Voiceless  is  now  that  tongue,  which  lately  spoke 
In  tones  of  melody  its  every  word. 
The  hand  of  death  the  golden  bowl  has  broke, 
And  loosed,  forever  loosed,  the  silver  cord. 
Come,  look  once  more  upon  her  ere  she  goes 
To  the  low  tomb,  to  take  her  last  repose. 

Come,  ye  who  loved  her,  take  your  last  farewell : 

And  who,  that  ever  knew  her,  loved  her  not  ? 

Ah  !  vain  indeed  the  attempt  for  me  to  tell, 

How,  sadly  gathering  round  each  well-known  spot, 

That  memory  hath  blended  with  her  name, 

A  thousand  tender  thoughts  affection's  tribute  claim. 

'Tis  done  !     The  last  farewell  is  spoken  mnv, 
The  last  prayer  has  been  uttered  o'er  her  clay. 
Now  hear  her  on,  with  solemn  steps,  and  slow, 
To  her  last  resting  place,  and  gently  lay 
Her  down,  that  she  may  rest  her  peaceful  head, 
Where  her  departed  brother's  form  is  laid. 

Parents  and  sisters !     Yet  my  latest  strain 
Your  sorrows  claim.     But  words,  alas,  are  poor ! 
May  He,  who  never  wounds  the  heart  in  vain, 
Vouchsafe  his  grace,  that  so  ye  may  endure, 
With  a  submissive,  though  a  mourning  heart, 
The  woes,  in  which  he  bids  you  share  so  sad  a  part  1 

Yet  ye  will  not  forbid  me  to  unite 

My  griefs  with  yours.     For  those  whom  ye  lament 

Were  dear  to  me  ;  and  oft  before  my  sight 

Does  memory  picture  hours  of  gladness  spent 

In  pleasing  intercourse  amid  the  halls, 

Where  science  oft  her  friends  together  calls. 


OF    EMILY    M.    BARRETT.  Ill 

Yes,  there  are  those  who  mourn  with  you.     Though  earth 

Has  many  sons  with  hearts  that  seldom  feel, 

Who  hurry  on  with  wild  and  reckless  mirth, 

Nor  heed  that  death  had  placed  his  icy  seal 

Upon  the  brow  of  those  who  were  so  dear, 

Yet  there  are  those,  who  shed  the  sympathising  tear. 

This  is  a  world  of  sorrow.     Thickly  strown 
Are  all  the  paths  of  life  with  varied  woes. 
Death  often  loves  to  number  as  his  own 
The  lovely  ones  on  whom  our  hearts  repose : 
But  seldom  does  his  solemn  summons  come 
Twice  in  so  brief  a  space  to  one  domestic  home. 

'Tis  right  that  ye  should  weep  :  the  Saviour  shed 

The  tear  of  heartfelt  sorrow  o'er  the  tomb, 

Where  the  beloved  Lazarus  was  laid  ; — 

Nor  will  he  frown,  when  his  disciples  come 

To  weep  o'er  the  remains  of  those  they  loved, 

Though  from  the  shores  of  time  to  happier  realms  removed. 

True,  they  are  lost  to  earth,  but  not  to  heaven, 
As  we  would  fondly  hope.     How  blest  the  thought, 
That  when  life's  few  remaining  cords  are  riven, 
Ye  then  may  meet  where  sorrow  cometh  not ! 
Then  shall  eternity's  pure  light  reveal 
The  mysteries,  which  the  shades  of  time  conceal. 


INSCRIPTIONS. 

Tlit  following  is  engraved  on  the  tombstone  of  Joseph 
A.  Barrett. 

Endowed  with  genius,  such  as  God  has  given 

To  few  of  all  the  sons  of  men  beside, 
While  yet  his  morning  sun  was  bright  in  heaven, 

Long  ere  it  reached  its  noonday  height,  he  died. 
Yet  calmly  to  the  stroke  of  death  he  bowed, 

Resigned  his  spirit  to  his  Father's  hand 
In  filial  trust, — and  not  a  darkening  cloud 

Shrouded  his  pathway  to  the  spirit  land. 

"  Non  annis,  sed  virtutibus,  vita  cestimanda  est." 


Upon  the  tombstone  of  Emily  M.  Barrett. 

Stranger,  this  spot  is  sacred.     There  lie  here 

The  dear  remains  of  one,  who  never  gave 
To  those  who  knew  her  cause  to  shed  a  tear, 

Save  when  they  wept  around  her  early  grave. 
If  talents,  youth,  or  virtue  could  reclaim 

From  death's  domain  one,  whom  they  all  adorned, 
Then  this  cold  marble  would  not  bear  the  name 

Of  Emily,  the  lovely  and  the  mourned. 


APPENDIX. 


, 


APPENDIX. 


[The  following  letters,  among  numerous  others  of  a  similar 
character,  were  received  by  the  parents  of  the  lamented  youths 
whose  lives  have  been  briefly  sketched  in  the  foregoing  pages.  We 
take  the  liberty  to  insert  them,  presuming  the  writers  would  have 
no  objection.  The  first  is  from  a  clergyman  in  a  neighboring  town, 
and  former  Preceptor  at  New-Ipswich  Academy  •  the  other  from 
Professor  Andrews,  former  Principal  of  the  Young  Ladies  Insti 
tute  at  New-Haven.l 


May  23,  1833. 
Dear  Sir, 

IT  was  my  intention,  when  at  New-Ipswich,  to  call  at 
your  house,  and  express  to  yourself  and  family  the  deep 
sprnpathy  I  feel,  in  respect  to  the  recent  death  of  your  son  ; 
but  circumstances  rendered  it  inconvenient :  and  the  duty 
which  was  then  necessarily  left,  I  wish  now  to  perform.  I 
had  not  the  pleasure  of  an  intimate  acquaintance  with 
your  son,  still  I  was  acquainted  with  many  parts  of  his 
short  life,  and  had  formed  the  highest  ideas  of  his  future 
usefulness  and  distinction.  Mr.  Thompson,  his  instructor 
at  Amherst  Academy  (whose  bosom,  I  have  no  doubt,  will 
be  pierced  with  many  sorrows,  when  he  hears  of  the  early 


116  APPENDIX. 

departure  of  a  talented  and  favorite  pupil)  informed  me, 
that  your  son  was  decidedly  the  first  scholar  in  that  large 
and  prosperous  school.  And  now  again,  I  hear  that  he 
ranked  above  all  his  class  at  Yale  College. 

Nor  was  I  unacquainted  with  his  moral  history.  In 
those  awfully  solemn  and  interesting  scenes  which  trans 
pired  in  New  Ipswich,  in  the  revival  of  1831,  when  his 
relations  to  God  were  made  a  matter  of  deep  thought  and 
solemn  inquiry  by  your  son,  I  recollect  often  to  have  in 
quired  anxiously  whether  the  announcement  had  not  been 
made  that  he  considered  himself  among  the  followers  of 
the  Lord  Jesus ;  although  I  might  have  expected  from  the 
known  quality  of  his  mind — from  that  close  scrutiny  with 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  examine  every  thing — from 
that  sobriety  and  genuine  modesty  which  retires  from  the 
rude  gaze  of  the  world,  (and  which  your  son  possessed  to 
the  admiration  of  those  who  are  capable  of  appreciating 
such  qualities) — I  say,  from  these  things,  one  might  expect 
that  such  an  announcement,  if  made  at  all,  would  be  made 
tremblingly.  I  felt  this  peculiar  interest  in  him  at  that 
time,  not  because  I  supposed  his  soul  more  valuable  than 
others  in  itself  considered,  but,  particularly,  for  the  bear 
ing  I  thought  it  would  have  upon  his  character  and  influ 
ence  in  respect  to  the  church  of  Christ.  Although  he  did 
not,  at  that  time,  profess  to  hope  in  the  mercy  of  God,  still 
1  always  had  strong  expectations  that  ultimately  his  tal 
ents  would  be  engaged  in  the  Redeemer's  cause.  And  his 
minister  informed  me  that  he  thought  him  to  give  good 
evidence  of  being  a  Christian,  in  his  last  sickness.  Your 
sorrows  must,  indeed,  be  greatly  mitigated  by  the  hope 
that  he  has  exchanged  this  for  a  brighter  world. 

Here  I  wish  to  touch  upon  a  topic  connected  with  an  er- 


APPENDIX. 


117 


ror  of  your  son. — I  mean  physical  education,  or  that  atten 
tion  to  diet,  exercise,  &c.  which  serves  to  keep  the  body  in 
health.  I  speak  of  this  because  I  think  the  church  ought 
to  be  alarmed  when  she  thinks  of  the  disastrous  effects 
which  follow  inattention  to  physical  education — when  she 
sees  hecatombs  of  her  choicest  sons  sacrificed  as  victims 
upon  this  altar.  Precisely  the  young  men  who  are  calcu 
lated  to  do  the  most  good,  and  to  exercise  the  most  power 
ful  influence  in  the  world,  are,  many  of  them  at  least,  cut 
down  before  their  education  is  completed  ;  or  their  consti 
tutions  are  so  broken  down,  that  they  are  able  to  effect 
comparatively  little  while  they  live.  Students,  youthful, 
inexperienced  and  ardent,  and  in  the  possession  of  health 
feel,  I  know,  that  there  is  no  danger,  and,  disregarding  the 
laws  of  life,  rush  on  in  the  dangerous  career,  attain  their 
object  perhaps,  and  attain  it  but  to  die. 

I  hope,  Sir,  that  your  attention,  as  one  of  the  guardians 
of  a  literary  institution,  will  be  turned  to  this  subject,  and 
that  physical  education  may  receive  that  share  of  public 
interest  to  which  its  great  importance  justly  entitles  it. 
How  happy  would  it  have  been  for  your  son,  had  there 
been  some  faithful  friend  near  him,  who  would  have  coun 
selled  and  warned  him  upon  this  subject  with  paternal 
affection.  Such  an  influence  may  you  exercise  upon 
some  talented  and  ardent  young  man  who  is  making  the 
same  mistake. 

But  all  regrets  and  sorrows  are  unavailing. 

The  eye  that  would  have  beamed  with  compassion  for  a  lost 
world,  has  closed  forever.  The  tongue,  that  we  trusted 
would  have  thrilled  upon  mortal  ears  with  the  accents  of 
mercy,  is  palsied  in  death.  And  it  is  well.  If  we  improve 
by  it — are  made  better — if  our  hold  upon  the  world  is 
11 


118 


APPENDIX. 


loosened  by  it — our  affection  weaned  from  it,  and  placed 
on  heaven — if  increased  energy  should  be  given  to  our 
arm,  in  efforts  to  benefit  a  lost  world,  it  is  well.  The  few 
days  of  our  existence  will  soon  be  past,  and  then  Christian 
friends  will  be  united  with  Christian  friends  in  a  better 
and  brighter  world. 

With  much  respect, 

Yours  trulyr 

J.  D.  CROSBY. 


Boston,  Aug.  22,  1833. 
Dear  Sir, 

I  HAVE  read  with  painful  interest  a  copy  of  Mr.  Wal 
ker's  sermon,  which  you  were  so  good  as  to  send  me,  and 
also  the  beautiful  hymn  written  by  your  son,  and  the  lines 
on  the  death  of  my  dear  pupil,  written  by  Mr.  Coffin. 

In  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  these,  I  gladly  avail 
myself  of  the  opportunity  to  express  to  you,  to  Mrs.  Bar 
rett,  and  to  your  daughter  whom  I  had  recently  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  in  Boston,  my  deep  sympathy  in  your 
affliction. 

Consolation  under  such  a  bereavement,  I  am  well  aware, 
must  come  from  a  higher  source,  and  this,  I  cannot  doubt, 
you  already  possess  ;  but,  even  when  enjoying  the  highest 
sources  of  consolation,  the  heart  may  be  cheered  by  the 
sympathy  of  our  friends. 

One  of  the  severest  trials,  to  which  the  faith  of  the  peo- 
pJe  of  God  is  ever  subjected,  is  doubtless  the  loss  of  dear 
friends,  of  whose  final  happiness  they  perceive  no  solid 
ground  of  hope.  To  say,  under  such  circumstances,  "  thy 


APPENDIX.  119 

will  be  done,"  with  full  acquiescence  in  his  government, 
is  indeed  difficult  for  human  nature  ;  but  it  is  a  trial  of 
faith,  to  which  I  rejoice  that  you,  my  friends,  have  not  been 
called.  I  rejoice  with  you,  that  your  children,  who  were  so 
lovely  in  their  lives,  and  who  in  their  deaths  were  scarcely 
divided,  have  not  left  us  to  grieve  as  those  who  are  without 
hope.  It  affords  me  great  pleasure  to  be  able  to  add  my 
testimony  to  that  of  their  other  friends,  to  the  very  uncommon 
excellence  and  loveliness  of  your  dear  departed  children. 
It  was  indeed  but  a  few  months  during  which  I  had  the 
privilege  of  knowing  them,  but  it  was  sufficient  to  ena 
ble  me  to  form  a  decided  opinion  of  their  uncommon 
talents  and  virtues.  Their  diligence  in  the  prosecution 
of  their  studies,  their  uniform  mildness  and  cheerful 
ness,  their  mutual  affection,  and  their  truly  conscien 
tious  lives,  will  long  remain  impressed  upon  the  minds 
of  those  who  knew  them. 

That  God  may  cause  your  severest  afflictions  to  become 
your  choicest  blessings  is  the  wish  and  prayer  of 
Your  affectionate  friend, 

E.  A.  ANDREWS, 


